Influence of Souls
by Madea's Rage
Summary: Sequel to "Strange and Invisible History". War has given way to an uneasy peace, but for how long? And at what cost?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**For those who have just found this, be aware it's a sequel to a dense, very long story called 'Strange and Invisible History'. Please read that before you read this, or at least refrain from sending feedbacks complaining that it makes no sense if you don't. **

**For the rest of you, thank you for all the wonderful reviews. It brightens my day to hear from everyone. **

**Also: At one point, being fat was desirable, especially in infants and children. When people call baby Edric fat, they mean he looks healthy and sturdy.**

**The title is a reference to George Eliot again. Major girl-crush action there.**

**Finally, my deepest thanks to CB, who as always makes what I do possible via a combination of gentle encouragement and blackmail. Thanks a million, darlin'.**

**Getting on with it now,**

**Madea's Rage**

**June, 1995:**

Scabior rose early on that day of days and dressed in his soberist clothing. Kissing his wife goodbye, he donned his boots and set out, out of their little flat and out the doors of the Ministry entirely.

He reflected, hands in his pockets, on the odd ways his life had latterly changed. He had not, especially, wanted to marry Alise so young, but it had seemed foolish to wait another year when the law here permitted such a thing, and anyhow, the girl herself had been more than willing.

He slipped down the twisted, complex allies of Sofia, making sure he was not being followed. It was only just starting to be dawn, and the city was still mostly asleep, which suited his purposes precisely.

Pulling the cowl of his cloak up, he silently counted doorways until he found just the right one. It had been unlocked for him. He slipped inside, making sure to muffle his footprints.

Outside the door, he slipped on a pair of moleskin gloves and then eased the door open. The fellow was sitting at a desk, and Scabior crept up behind him. The man seemed to sense it coming and turned a fraction too late, wand raised.

Scabior's spell immobilised him, and he fell rigid to the floor. Scabior leant over him, and slowly withdrew the knife from his waistcoat. 'Rodolphus _Lestrange sends is regards, you son of a bitch._' And then he went to work, and the world was red and hot and smelt of copper.

An hour later, he was sliding back into bed. Alise rolled, turning over and mumbling. Scabior bent closer. _'No, shhh. 'S' a dream, pet, backs t sleep_.' She sighed agreement and rolled on her belly. Scabior smoothed a hand down her back gently and closed his own eyes, preparing to sleep the sleep of the just.

It has been said by some that no man might serve two masters. Scabior would have disputed that easily, and with a look of faint annoyance, as though someone had proclaimed the moon to be made of green cheese. He knew it to be possible, because he, Lemuel Scabior, served three.

Firstly, he was sworn to the service of the Lord Protector, and to Flower. No matter how old she got or grand she was, to Scabior, she'd always be the feisty, smart, good-hearted little girl he'd once dragged back to her father for a smacking.

In that interest, he swept the rooms the lord and lady frequented, employed a shifting schedule of wolves as tasters to rule out poisons, made sure security was tight (woe betide the bastard Scabior caught sleeping or drunk on duty!), and generally made sure the family was as safe as he could make them, assisted by the redoubtable Arco and Paavo Kask, who'd proven to have a streak of hard, pragmatic cunning that Scabior liked more with each passing day.

Secondly, he served Britain. As Snape explained it, he could best serve his country by making sure the lad's hands stayed cleaned, and so that's what he did. He took his orders from Lestrange, or Penko Krum, or Snape himself. Flower's Bulgarian never had to know, and Scabior himself made a thousand in gold for every one of them he did. It was, he though, the perfect blend of commerce, patriotism and personal enjoyment.

Thirdly, he served his own wife and the fledgling family he'd started. It would be just the two of them for some time, as Snape had threatened to castrate him with a butter knife should Alise fall pregnant the second before she was eighteen. A funny bloke, Snape, when he kidded.

And he liked having a family. Alise set out his clothes for him, listened to his thoughts and made sure he had what he needed for the day ahead. He wished she were not so quiet-a fellow wanted to know what his wife was thinking.

He would never, of course, have insulted her by investing the money she'd brought to their marriage in a brothel. So that's where his takings from this little enterprise went, and already, he'd nearly doubled the amount of gold in their vault in less than a year. He was not, strictly speaking, a pimp-he simply collected the earnings at the end of every month.

Lemuel Scabior was, in short, a man of the world these days. He had a wife he liked, a huge sum squirreled away against a rainy day, a job he enjoyed, and the company of people he respected. And so, smiling a childlike smile of contentment, he rolled over, snuggling into his wife, and let himself fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

In England, the source of that morning's order was trimming his beard. The elf finished the last bit and he rose, stroking gently at his face. He'd had a beard since he was old enough to grow one, and it pleased him to look his best.

Rodolphus slid his feet into his slippers and donned his dressing gown. He padded down the corridor, searching his wife's favourite haunts. Finally a noise drew him onto the terrace. Bellatrix was standing in her nightdress, wand flashing as she aimed and then fired at statues on the lawn.

The statues ducked, shouting protests. Rodolphus, used to his wife's peccadilloes, crossed his arms and sighed. 'Bellatrix, really. Again?'

'What?' She spun, glaring petulantly. He had to smile-for all Trixie's bluster, she could be disarmingly childlike sometimes. He stepped closer, giving the statues a chance to scatter, or freeze and hope she didn't notice them.

'I know you don't like being cooped up better than anyone else does, but must the statues suffer your displeasure?'

'They're hideous anyhow.'

'I never said they weren't, but that isn't the point.'

'Don't you take that tone with me! I am not being unreasonable!' She crossed her arms and glowered. Rodolphus snorted, biting his tongue to keep from laughing. He half wanted to rile her more just to see her cheeks flush and her eyes flash.

'Now, darling, don't take on. Is everything all right?'

'No.' Bellatrix looked over the green expanse of lawn and drew in on herself. Rodolphus edged closer and slowly extended a hand to brush her arm. She permitted it, but only just.

'Darling, it's a good thing.'

'Isn't. It's suspicious. Six months he won't permit us to so much as write her without His leave, and now He's invited them here?' She was ignoring the fact it was a planned visit, or had misremembered, but Rodolphus admitted the point stood.

'They do have that snake. I'm sure He wants it very much.'

'I still don't like it. Suppose it's a trap of some kind?'

Rodolphus had had that thought himself. He swallowed and nodded. 'We've been lucky so far, haven't we? I suppose we simply hope for the best.'

She was looking at a dove, which had alighted on a branch near them. She toyed with her wand but made no move to attack the creature, who lifted pure white wings and preened a bit.

'They'll be much different, do you think?'

'I should doubt it. It's as though they were away at school, Trixie, nothing more.'

'Is it?' She wrapped her arms about herself, shivering in the damp, slightly chill air. It had been a very cold, foggy Spring. Somewhere Dementors were spawning. Rodolphus felt a cold finger tickle his spine.

'No. I suppose...no.'

She whirled, nightgown flapping, and strode into the house. 'Nothing for it, is there?'

He didn't answer, but followed his wife into their house and hoped for the best. He did that a lot these days.

Seven hours later, dressed in robes and masks, they waited beside Barty for the carriage to touch down. Cunegarde, in a towering wig of hectic and rather terrifying fuchsia, was on the madman's other side, and Rabastan, also robed and masked, was nearby, watching his wife and son intently.

The aurors that were the honour guard to the Lord Protector's carriage came into view, and then the sky was quite dense with them, half Bulgarian and half Britons. The band struck up a welcoming air, and the crowd, which actually **was **spontaneous this time, started to cheer.

Rodolphus could see, from the corner of his left eye, the Malfoys straightening a little, their haughty bearing disguising what he could sense was a deep eagerness to see their son.

The carriage touched down, and the first out was Anu Tamm, taller now, sun glinting off his well oiled eye patch. He hopped down and after a suitable gesture on Anu's part to the canopy where the dignitaries were standing, he leant up and offered his arm to Hermione.

She had changed, her father saw. Dressed in cream coloured robes of silk, hair styled modishly, she might have passed for any young, prosperous British witch had it not been for the huge sapphire that hung in the hollow of her throat, set with diamonds that matched the ones in her hairnet, or else the sash she wore, heavy with orders that shone and winked in the sun.

Next to her, Draco looked very tall now, his uncle noticed; he was almost exactly the same height as Viktor, and bore himself like a man. The real surprise was Viktor, and it to him Rodolphus found himself returning.

His son in law would never be a handsome man in the way Draco was, or Rodolphus himself, but he had grown into his face a bit more, and his Roman nose and fierce eyebrows lent him a look of intensity. He stood very straight, his chain of office odd indeed over English style robes. The last time he had arrived here, he had been fifteen and afraid, a child. Now, at seventeen, he was a man, and Rodolphus saw no fear in him. He was proclaiming himself the Dark Lord's equal by his attitude, and Rodolphus was afraid for him, for them, almost as afraid as he was proud.

The Dark Lor d had borrowed Walden Mcnair, and swept forward, bald head shining in the sun. 'Our dear young friends, what a delight it is to see you again.'

The Lord Protector and Vicereine moved forward to meet him. 'My lord, ve surely feel the same.'

Watching Hermione was like going back in time. Her father felt as though he were watching a young Bellatrix, moving with liquid ease, eyes deep and dark and yes, perhaps a bit dangerous as well.

There were others, too. His own mother in the purse of a mouth, Druella Black in the cock of a head, Cygnus or Achilles in a thousand other ways. And some of it was just Hermione, his girl who tried so hard and was so confoundingly, gratifyingly, frighteningly good.

A handful of men from the Department of Magical Creatures were unloading the snake. It was well fed and logy, but still dangerous. Sleek, sinuous, covered in scales of deep green and purple, the thing was ten metres long, with a head as large as a dog. The eyes blinked, filled with a sort of instinctive intelligence, a knowledge of how to maim.

'Our gift to your lordship' said Hermione, startling the group out of the reverie induced by the huge snake. 'A sign of the friendship between our countries.'

'Of course. She is most beautiful. Has she a name?'

'Nagini, your lordship. Legend has it these snakes are the last decedents of that race.'

The Dark Lord moved fearlessly until he was next to the monstrous head. He bent, hissing, Mcnair's face twisting.

The snake raised her head, swaying it lightly as she listened, sometimes hissing back. The Dark Lord extended a hand and the tongue, black as pitch and as long as a man's arm, darted out, passing the flesh of his hand to learn his taste.

'Release her. She will not harm anyone.' The workers did it, and the snake slithered behind the Dark Lord as docile as a lapdog. The Dark Lord walked toward the Lord Protector and Vicereine.

'Perhaps you should like to meet Our new pet?'

Hermione smiled. 'Your lordship, I should like nothing better.' Viktor looked a little pale at the thought, but Hermione stepped forward without apparent reservation, and extended a hand that seemed very, very small next to the snake's maw.

The snake's wet black tongue flicked over her palms, explored her fingers and seemed to make a decision. The head darted closer and the tongue danced across Hermione's cheeks, lightly brushed her hair, and then retracted.

'Nagini likes you, Vicereine. She says you have courage.'

'Thank you, my lord.' She lifted her eyes and looked directly into the Dark Lord's. Rodolphus controlled a flinch; the Dark Lord could hurt her mind, could...do nothing. He wasn't strong enough yet. But that day was getting closer, and it made Rodolphus realise how little time they really had.

Bellatrix apparently felt the same, because, to the amusement of the group, she wasted no time in showing Hermione precisely how she felt about her encounter with Nagini once they were in private.

Which is to say, Bellatrix cornered her daughter, spun her about and swatted her a half dozen times, shrieking the whole while about snakes and what she'd do if Hermione ever did such a dangerous thing again.

'Mother! Ow! Mother!'

'DON'T YOU "MOTHER" ME, GIRL! THAT SNAKE MIGHT HAVE BITTEN OFF YOUR HEAD! AND FURTHERMORE, HOW DARE YOU WORRY YOUR FATHER AND I? AND YOUR AUNT! NARCISSA IS VERY FRAGILE!'

Hermione finally squirmed away and threw her arms about her mother. 'Mother, it's all right! Look, I'm perfectly well. And the snake was very gentle with me, I promise.'

'Gentle? It's a vicious, man eating snake! Boy, tell your wife I'm correct!'

'Herm-on-nee-knee, Mother is vright. It is dangerous to let snake lick your face.'

'I could hardly stop her. And it all turned out well.'

Bellatrix hurrumphed pointedly and subsided a bit, glowering. Rodolphus grinned at her, raising an eyebrow and getting a hissed death threat in return. Hermione, flustered, smoothed her hair. 'Well, what shall we do before dinner?' The whole thing seemed so normal, so blessedly usual that Rodolphus felt his muscles relax for the first time six months. Perhaps, just perhaps, things were finally looking up a bit.

Severus Snape wasn't quite so sure, but he was disturbed by how glad he was to see them. The girl made a beeline for him and he permitted a hug from her. She stepped back, frowning sternly.

'Professor, you're awfully thin. Haven't you been eating?'

'I assure you, madam, I have done my utmost to keep my constitution up.'

She was still looking at him with a sharp, knowing gaze that reminded him of Minerva McGonagall. He glowered straight back and the girl laughed.

'Oh, I've missed you all so much!' And then, gallingly, she hugged him again. He hugged back, feeling that she herself was taller and a bit heavier. Her face had changed subtly. She was nearly grown.

'Your leg is better, isn't it?'

'Healed completely. That salve you sent was most helpful.'

Sose had taught the girl a salve that had, truthfully, helped with the residual aches and pains quite a bit. It relied on several herbs and mosses unknown to Britain, more was the pity, as Snape might have liked to have made some himself. It would, perhaps, have stopped the dog's whinging about his shoulder once he came back to Spinner's End.

'And you've still got our friend at the Ministry?'

The girl's jaw tightened. 'Oh, yes. I spent two hours last night arguing with that idiot of an ambassador.'

The boy overheard and came closer. 'Herm-on-nee-knee put a flea in his ear, Professor. Is that the vright expression?'

'It is.' All three looked round, signalling there would more discussion about Pavel later. The fellow was still a reluctant guest in Bulgaria, though he enjoyed every comfort, including his own set of rooms and access to books in Romanian. Novels only, but a person can't ask for everything.

'I am pleased to hear it. I always encouraged my lady to express herself.'

'That's true.' The girl was still smiling at him with disquieting fondness, and then took the boy's hand for a second. They smiled at one another, finally, and Snape slipped away, leaving them to their private moment.

Not far enough away, as Barty danced up to him. 'Sev! It's like the old days, isn't it, all of us here? And a giant snake as well! Do you suppose His Lordship will let me pet her?'

'No doubt he'd be delighted, Barty.' Barty beamed and moved off, clearly excited by the light and noise of the meeting. Snape sighed, resolving to monitor his mad friend to be sure there was not going to be an incident.

Dinner was to be at ten, so the group went to Grimmauld Place to rest and relax until then. Black was there already, having carefully and thoroughly swept every place possible for devices the Dark Lord could use to spy.

Kreacher had joined in as well, and sent no fewer than three trainee aurors scrambling when he'd caught them trying to insert some sort of experimental listening wire on the rafters. The house was, as best as anyone could tell, clean, and so the group settled in.

Snape had to hand it to Black, the arse never flinched. He went to the landing and had Kreacher pull the dust cloth that from the picture. It had been placed there two years earlier and because no one had thought to send word for him to move it, Kreacher hadn't. Madam Black opened her eyes and fastened her gaze on her son directly.

Thankfully, they had silenced the corridor and given the relevant parties (Tamm and Barty) sleeping draughts , because an instant later, she opened her mouth and screamed shrilly.

'BLOOD TRAITOR! WICKED, THANKLESS SON!'

'Hello, Mother.'

'KREACHER! EJECT THIS MAN AT ONCE!'

Kreacher bowed low. 'Mistress, Kreacher is thinking Master Sirius is having important things to say.'

'I HAVE LEARNT NOTHING IMPORTANT FROM BLOOD TRAITORS BEFORE THIS, AND I SHAN'T START NOW!'

'How have you been, Mother?'

'SERPENT! LYING CUCKOO IN THE NEST! YOU'RE NO SON OF MINE!'

It them an hour, but once Walburga had screeched herself hoarse (no wondering where darling Bellatrix got it from, was there?), she'd listened to the combined force of Kreacher and Narcissa.

'Hmmph' sniffed the woman finally, leaning back in her frame 'I suppose, if that's true-IF, Sirius Orion, I might be persuaded to forgive you.'

'You are too kind, Mother, really.'

'And to my detriment, might I add. Now, where are my great nephews and niece? I wish to see them.'

After the introductions were finished, the dog tried again. 'Mother?'

'Sirius, have Kreacher cut your hair. It's altogether too shaggy. Lucius has long hair, and do you see how nice he looks?'

'He hasn't got this curly mat on his head, Mother.'

'He puts forth proper effort. And has a valet. Why haven't you got a valet? People will talk.'

'No one knows I'm alive aside from the family, Mother.'

'That is hardly the point.'

'Mother, when did you last hear from Reg?'

'Regulus is dead, Sirius.'

'I know. We're trying to figure out what happened.'

'There is nothing to figure out. He is dead, and so am I. Leave the dead to their sleep. Everyone will be happier that way.' Her face was stark with grief, and Snape felt almost sorry for her. Even dead, this was obviously painful for her.

'Regulus deserved better, Mother, and so did Father and yourself. Let me finish this.'

'Mistress' said Kreacher before the woman could say anything else 'Master Sirius is promising to marry when everything is done. Babies for Mistress and Kreacher.'

Walburga snorted. 'Hmm, just like that? And whom, pray tell, will you marry?'

'I'm sure Snape would-'

'SNAPE? SEVERUS SNAPE?'

Snape stepped forward and bowed. 'Madam Black, I hope you'll forgive my-'

'I WILL NOT! SIRIUS COULD DO FAR BETTER THAN A HALFBLOOD!'

Snape fell silent in consternation, and Black, obviously trying not to laugh said 'Mother, it's not like that.'

'IT HAD BEST NOT BE! YOUR COUSIN FOUND A ROSIER! SURELY YOU COULD AT LEAST SEEK OUT A WARRINGTON OR A WILKES! EVEN A JUGSON!'

'Mother, I like women, and so does Snape. He's the one who coordinates things, is all.'

'Oh. Very well, then. You'll find him someone suitable, I hope.'

'Madam, I will find Black the sort of woman he deserves, to be sure.'

She nodded haughtily. 'See you do, then, Halfblood. Sirius, when are you moving back home?'

'Home is Bulgaria now, Mother. I'm needed there.'

'You're needed here! I have been awfully lonely with just Kreacher for company.'

'I'll stop and visit you.'

'And raise your children here.'

'We'll discuss it later, Mother.'

'We'll discuss it right now! And furthermore, why are dressed like that? Where are your robes?'

'They make it harder for me to transform, Mother.'

'Transform into what?'

Black turned into Salazar, and Walburga, sour faced, said nothing as he transformed back.

'A pretty trick, I give you that, but what sort of wizard spends his time as a dog? Your late father, rest his shade, was an accomplished amateur charms-maker by your age.'

'I'm a spy, Mother. I haven't the time.'

'You've loads of time for thinking up excuses, haven't you? Kreacher, burn that jumper. Those bears are positively cavorting on it.'

'It helps me blend into muggle areas, Mother. And they aren't cavorting, they're dancing.'

'It's hideous! And what are you doing in muggle areas, anyhow?'

'Spying, Mother.'

'Hmmph.' She made a face and then settled back, drawing her fan so she could wave it for emphasis.

'Well, at least you look well. You've been taking care of yourself? Eating properly? You always eat so poorly, Sirius. How many sweets have you had today?'

'Err, two, Mother.'

'You see? Kreacher, make sure my son isn't gorging on sweets. It's all he'd eat if he had his way. And you, Halfblood, have you got a decent cook?'

'I do, madam, thank you.'

She peered at him from his half moon glasses. 'I don't believe it. Kreacher, is the Halfblood lying?'

'No, Mistress.'

'Well, make sure they both eat whilst they're here. I won't have anyone saying we set a poor table. And send my nieces to me, I would talk to them.'

That evidentially ended things, and Black seemed quite well pleased as he led them into the kitchen and let Mippy pour the coffee. Snape finally couldn't contain himself.

'That is your mother?'

'According to the family tree, she was.'

'She is quite a...forceful...lady.'

'She could chew the back leg off a dragon and you know it. Still, it went well. She liked you.'

'Liked me?''Very much. Otherwise she would've started shrieking again. And Snape?'

'Black?'

'If you marry me to some vile old bag, I will find a way to sic Kreacher on you full time.'

Snape made one of his weird, grimacing smiles. 'Alecto is single.'

'You are evil.'

He shook his head. 'Not at all. I assume you should like to put off marrying as long as you may?'

'Forever, if possible. I've no urge to marry.'

'Nor I, but no one will shed a tear when the Snape name dies.'

'Oh, I don't know. If I fathered a son and you did the same, they could continue our spats.'

'Yes, because so many women are lined up to wed me, Black. Have you never looked at my face?'

'Not directly, but women like power. And your voice might help.'

'And what, wear a mask?'

'You tried that once and it didn't work so well.'

Snape tried to counter that but found he couldn't, so he threw his napkin at the cur and called it a day.

The house was coming to life all round them. The Snatchers were camped in every corridor, the family was spreading out to unpack and subtly check for obvious bugs and potential issues.

Sirius had given Viktor and Hermione the house, more or less, and everything in it, so Viktor and his wife were exploring the master bedroom, where they had spent a single night two years before.

It had changed not a bit, and so Hermione had asked the elves to turn back the cover and then started to rummage, reminding her husband endearingly of a little magpie.

'Look at this!' She would exclaim excitedly, holding up some trifle, and resolve to ask Aunt Walburga about it. Viktor himself was quite curious, and used the various papers and things as a chance to test his English. Nothing personal, of course-much though Viktor and his wife liked to poke about, they had an unspoken agreement about the privacy of the former occupants.

'Aunt Cunegarde look vell. Very thin, though. Ve are sending for some cheese and milk?'

Viktor had a firm belief that wholesome food, especially milk, could fix most ailments, and a further belief that 'wholesome' specifically meant things grown on the family lands.

Hermione shook her head. 'I've asked Aunt Narcissa, and she says Aunt Cunegarde is really' she switched into Bulgarian _'worrying about all this_.'

_'I don't blame her. _Then ve send for roses?'

'That might help. Aunt does like flowers.'

'Edric is very fat now, yes?'

The baby was big and rosy, giggling constantly. His time away from Aunt Eugenia and Uncle Rab seemed not to have effected him much, but Viktor could see in the way his parents, and Barty, held him that it had effected them deeply.

'He looks very healthy, I thought. Big, now. I'm glad Aunt Sose showed me how to make those little shoes for him. He needs them.'

They had agreed that, since Anu was going to marry Yana, it was inappropriate to call Madam Tamm by her given name.

'Valking soon, Grandmama says.'

Elisaveta seemed happy enough in England, and Edric, he suspected, was most of it. She and Cunegarde had bonded over having an infant to care for, and Viktor sometimes thought that both women would have given up if not for the baby.

'Father says Lestrange babies are always ahead of their peers. Healthy and smart, he says.'

'I believe that.'

He grinned and bent to steal a kiss. Rinky popped in, bowing, and handed over Crookshanks, who blatted indignantly and laid down on his new feather pillow, kneading it into an appropriate shape.

'Bad cat Crookshanks was in kitchen! Eating crust from pie for supper!'

'Crookshanks! Bad cat!'

Crooks rolled impenitently over on his back and squawked for a belly rub.

Kreacher, too, appeared to rant about the 'bad wicked cat' so Viktor, sensing this was something he didn't want to be part of, slipped out. He wandered a bit, until he came on Sirius-Salazar, who was roaming the corridors.

The dog nudged him with his head, and Viktor followed until the two came on Tamm, who was in what was presumably Sirius's old room. There were pictures of nearly nude women on the walls, and Anu was looking at them with wide eyed wonder.

_'*Hello, Anu.*'_

_'*V-Viktor! Hello, I mean.*' _Anu coloured guiltily, dipping his head a bit. Viktor chuckled and gave him a knowing look. Anu's colour deepened.

_'*Are you enjoying England thus far?*'_

Anu's voice dropped. He swished a quick Muffiliato and said, very seriously _'*Professor says that discretion is the best part of valour.*'_

_'*He's quite right.*'_

_'*I'm glad Nene stayed home. That snake makes me nervous.*'_

_'*Me too.*' _

Viktor wondered what Sirius wanted to tell him. He hoped the meeting with the portrait hadn't been too painful for the man. It would, he thought, be an awful thing to have to tell one's mother, that one's brother was long dead, even if it was only a portrait and not the real woman.

_'*Anu, are you hungry?*'_

Anu nodded promptly. '_*Always.*'_

_'*Go and ask Kreacher to give you something. Dinner's not for a long time.*'_

_'*Would you like something?*'_

_'*Not right now. And see if the aunts and uncles need anything, would you?*'_

_'*I will. Your mother in law is very fierce, isn't she?*'_

_'*Extremely.*' _Anu chuckled at the answer and cheerfully headed for the door to do his assigned tasks, humming to himself.

Sirius changed back. He swept a hand through his hair and grinned lopsidedly at Viktor. 'Well, how are you doing? Have you had a bellyful of politics yet?'

'More than that. You?'

'Not me. All I do is sneak about and roll when Barty asks me.'

Viktor shook his head. 'No. You help us by finding things.'

'And bothering Snape.'

'Is good for him. Not healthy, to be alone all the time.'

'Make sure and tell him that when I'm doing something obnoxious to him.'

'Cousin, are you vell vith this? Being here?' Viktor found the direct approach to be best in these circumstances. He suspected Sirius would as well, and hoped he hadn't offended him somehow.

'No. I hate it here. But it is what it is, and it could be worse. What about you?'

'Me? I am fine. Tired.'

'I would think it was hard to be in this place.'

'Sometimes. She is very close here. My mother, I mean.'

He could feel Zhivka, thought sometimes he heard her footsteps or smelt her perfume. She was almost a physical presence, as though the rooms had trapped her inside themselves, held the last hours of her life within the walls like some sort of grotesque picture show.

'This house has its share of ghosts. Not that I mean...'

'I know.'

'Do you want...dogs are very good listeners, you know.' He indicated the bed and Viktor sat as Sirius transformed and hopped up as well. Viktor wasn't sure his English was up to the task, but he was willing to try.

'My father has not come.'

There, it was said. The dog edged closer and gently poked him with his nose. The warm, comforting weight of a doggy head on his leg, and Viktor closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

'I don't vant to see him, anyvay.'

He kept scratching. 'Vhy has he not come?'

The dog bided, eyes gentle and utterly without judgement. Viktor dropped his head into the dog's ruff and held on for dear life. When he stood, he was the Lord Protector again.

'Thank you. I need that.'

Salazar's tail thumped once, and Sirius-Salazar slipped out, leaving him to his thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

** I just want to point out that not everything the characters believe is objectively true, so I'd keep that in mind at various points...**

**There's a small block of text directly from the books in this. I normally wouldn't, but it makes sense in context.**

**Also, I generally prefer to leave most major canon events alone, but I've tweaked one to better serve the story. Mea culpa.**

The first surprise of the day came early, as Hermione rose and dressed at dawn. Viktor woke up a bit later (unusually, for him), and did likewise, and they shared a few quiet moments before Rinky came and announced that the Dark Lord was requesting they join him for a late lunch in Wales, of all places.

'Vhere is Vales again? By Scotland?' Viktor looked out on the day, which was grey and threatening rain. Hermione fastened her broach at her neck and explained.

'It's quite beautiful there. My Dad-the muggle one-he liked Wales very much. He and Mum wanted to retire to this little cabin we owned near Cardiff. He liked the plants that grew there. He drew them.' She felt her heart squeeze a little and let it, deciding it was better to share this.

Viktor came behind her and gently rubbed her shoulders a bit. 'No vay to get out of this, so maybe it vill be fun. Good to get some fresh air, at least.'

She nodded. 'And we might see some new animals, too. I'd like that.'

He kissed the top of her head. 'Ve have Crookshanks. He is like a lion.'

Crooks raised his head and sneezed to show he was far more like a leopard, really, and then let his eyes slide shut again, rolling on his side, fat legs splayed.

'I know. I used to like birdwatching.'

'Birdvatching? This is a thing?'

'Haven't you ever heard of that?'

'No. Ve do not birdvatch.'

'It's fun. You take field glasses' Hermione finally translation charmed the word 'and sit quietly, waiting for the bird to come.'

'And then vhat?'

'You write down what you saw.'

Viktor nodded slowly. 'Of course. Vhy didn't I think of that?'

'Viktor, are you picking on me?'

He pretended to think. 'Yes.'

'I'll tell Aunt Cissy.'

'I vill tell Barty.'

'Tell Barty what?'

Hr shrugged and tried to look mysterious. ' I vill think of something, yes?'

Hermione poked him in the ribs, which turned into a tickle fight, which turned into something else entirely. They were half an hour late for breakfast with the rest of the family.

The visit to Wales turned out to be a kind of tour of Britain, sitting in a carriage. Every city they stopped in, huge crowds gathered to cheer them, waving little flags. They stopped on a nondescript cairn of rock for lunch, sitting on a cloth some thirty metres above the crashing waves.

Sea air sharpens the appetite, and the group (Draco had also come, and Anu, and Snape) consumed a whole roast goose with all the trimmings, and had some very good beaujolais with it.

The Dark Lord had borrowed Gibbon, and his tall, thin form curled on the rock like a centipede, the massive snake beside him. Nagini had apparently enjoyed her encounter with Hermione, and she sometimes slithered up behind her and encoiled her for a moment, like a hug.

Hermione, surprisingly, quite liked the snake back. She even found herself leaning into her. She used her hand, still numb more often than not, to touch the smoothly curved flanks and was rewarded with a low contented hiss. The snake whipped her head round and sniffed the hand for a moment.

_'*Nagini wishes to know what happened to your hand.*'_

_'*It was damaged in the battle, my lord.*'_

_'*How unfortunate. It shan't ever heal?*'_

_'*Our medi-wizards are working tirelessly. Your lordship is too kind to ask.*' _

She and the others had decided against wine, except for a few token sips, but the Dark Lord was imbibing plentifully.

_'*You like this spot?*'_

_'*It is quite fascinating here, your lordship.*' _

Viktor looked as though he wished they could go home. Still, he was right; the was sea empty about them for miles aside from a sheer wall of cliffs, but there was a sense of...something...all about them.

No wildlife, no interesting sights, just the sea, as though they'd been swallowed by it. And that thrumming, slightly nauseous sense of some unknown power, like a half felt thought.

_'*It is, isn't it? My illustrious forbear, Salazar Slytherin, believed there to be a special magic in places like this. It's a nexus, you know. The Continent has many of them.*'_

_'*Yes. Castle Krum sits on one, as do most of the others castles in Bulgaria.*'_

_'*You must sleep very well at night, knowing you've such a powerful protection.*'_

Viktor gnawed a bit of goose leg. _'*Bulgaria's best protection is Bulgaria, my lord. We are a hot-blooded people.*'_

_'*Mmm, no doubt. Nomascus Gibbon tells Us you led the air support yourself, during the battle.*'_

_'*Yes, that is true. The Vicereine led the ground troops and Drago the wolves.*'_

_'*Most fascinating. You'd let a woman command men?*'_

_'*If she was good at it. The Vicereine is very good at it.*' _Hermione blushed a little under her husband's praise, and forced down the hot spike of anger she felt at the Dark Lord's casual dismissal of women generally.

_'*We have always found women to be a bit too, ah, emotional to command. Some of them make for competent enough lieutenants, We allow, but in the heat of action, a cool head is best.*'_

Hermione could feel her heartbeat slowing. Nagini did as well, and pressed a vast head into her back, nearly knocking her over. The Dark Lord laughed.

_'*Nagini tells Us you disagree, Vicereine.*'_

_'*I suppose that's one way to put it, my lord.*'_

'*_Surely you believe Pureblood ladies serve best as wives and mothers?*'_

Hermione could sense the pit she was walking into. '_*I believe your lordship once said that each has a place best suited to her own abilities. Some people are lieutenants, or fighters, but some people are not. Some are born to lead regardless of gender.*_'

The Dark Lord laughed. '*_Well said, Vicereine! Your mother's spirit is strong in you.*'_

'_*Mother has always been a good role model to me, my lord.*'_

_'*No doubt. She once dreamt of command, you know. Of course, such a thing is simply not possible. She dreamt of marrying Ourself as well, but Britain is Our only bride. We are alike in that, Severus, no?*'_

The whole rock was quiet. Even Anu, who had been rather morosely nibbling a wing, stopped, eyes wide. Hermione's skin was crawling. Her heartbeat slowed even more, and she made herself breath deeply.

_'*Now, Draco's mother is an example of the new woman. Gentle, refined, exactly educated enough to be a good hostess and help to her husband. Your mother, Draco, did she fight?*'_

_'*Yes, my lord, she did.*'_

_'*With your father, I take it.*'_

_'*I believe so, my lord.*'_

_'*It's all for the good, then. Can't have them getting the idea that they might do these things alone. Really, We hardly see a point in educating them much at all. Women are so gentle and fragile, aren't they?*'_

Hermione had never been as angry as she was then. She took another deep breath and felt the snake coil her midsection and squeeze lightly. She leant into the hold and made herself count to twenty.

_'*What about you, boy? How do you feel about this issue?*'_

Anu dropped his wing. _'*M-me?*'_

_'*Y-you.*'_

Anu adjusted his eyepatch. _'*My mother is bravest person I know, your lordship.*'_

_'*You believe women to be your equals, then?*'_

_'*It depends on the woman, my lord.*_' Anu looked half ready to cry, and Snape, apparently sensing it would be a good time to stop this, swiftly intervened by placing a sallow hand on Anu's forehead.

_'*My lord, Tamm's fever is returning. Perhaps a return would be the better course.*'_

'*_If you say so, Severus_.*' The carriage was summoned, and the group set off for Grimmauld Place.

Bellatrix Lestrange was somewhat startled when she came from the kitchen, toting a snack (she didn't like to send the elves when she wanted a small nosh-it struck her as undignified to admit Bellatrix Lestrange, the Feared Death Eater, liked cold roast cabbage sandwiches and left over kippers) only to be half mauled by her daughter the second the plate set down on the table and the girl had set a strong Silencing bubble about them both.

'Girl? What happened?'

'Mother, he's awful! How did you ever want to-to-Mother, no!' She was still holding on for dear life, and Bellatrix, deeply confused, hugged back.

'What happened?'

Hermione relayed the events on the rock. Bellatrix patted her back lightly, trying to put the pieces together in her mind.

'Mother, is it true? Did you love...did you love him?'

'Yes. For a very long time.'

'No, I mean... like Viktor and I.'

'Yes.'

Hermione looked appalled. 'Mother, I...he knew that and did it all anyway?'

Bellatrix nodded once and her daughter was in her arms again, but it felt subtly different this time. Hermione was comforting her and not vice versa.

'I'm sorry, Mother.'

'So am I, girl. So am I.' She gently broke the embrace and listened to the rest of Hermione's story.

'Well, girl, some good might come of this yet.'

'How so, Mother?'

'That rock...the Dark Lord likes symbols. What does it mean?'

'I don't know. Wasn't much a place. It wasn't scenic or something like that.'

'We'll discuss it with Snape. Perhaps he'll have formulated some sort of plan.'

'Mother? Why don't you and the Professor get along?'

Bellatrix nibbled a kipper. 'He's an arse.' Hermione sat, clearly waiting for the rest, and when none came smiled a little, tension broken.

'Was it that bad at home, Mother?'

'You mean when I joined with...with him?'

'Yes.'

Bellatrix nibbled another kipper. 'Yes and no. I'd grown up seeing him coming to see my father. And the things he said, girl, you don't realise how lucky you are.'

'How so?'

'He offered me a whole new world. Otherwise it would have been all babies and flower arranging for me.' She shook her head to show how she felt about that.

'And when Andromeda...'

'It's all right, Mother.'

'It's not either. She didn't die, girl. She left.'

'Left?'

'Father wanted her to marry Adelbert Nott. Meddie refused and ran off with the first man who'd take her.'

'Oh.'

'She said I was blind. I called her a whore. Never saw her again. And don't you dare say you're sorry, either! You didn't do this.'

'No, Mother. Mother...?'

'Girl?'

'That thing that happened with Neville's parents...was that like Uncle Lucius says it was?'

Bellatrix ate a little of her sandwich. 'Rather. I'm sure he left out some things.'

'Like what?'

Bellatrix shook her head. 'Not now.'

'All right. Mother?'

'Girl?'

'Are there portraits I could meet? Of my grandparents and people, I mean?'

'Probably. I'll ask Cissy.'

Hermione nodded and dropped her head against her mother's shoulder. She was ever so slightly taller now. Bellatrix reached up with her free hand and smoothed her daughter's hair.

'We'll fix this, Hermione. You know we will.'

'I know.' Hermione closed her eyes, sighing, and Bellatrix sat with her like that for a very long time, wishing she could change the past and knowing that would never happen.

She waited until after the children had gone upstairs to "nap" (and she'd glared fearsomely at their retreating backs, just to make sure nothing happened up there) and then sought out Severus, who'd come back two hours later than the children and looking unusually short tempered, even for him.

'Snape.'

'Bellatrix.' He sat scowling, and Sirius materialised, as though out of nowhere, and handed him a drink. Snape gulped half of it and sat the tumble on the be-coastered end table.

'I assume you're staring at me because of my vast physical charms?'

'No, your winning personality. I hear there was an incident.'

'Usually there is. But yes.' Snape gave his own version of events. Hermione had left out some points, and Bellatrix, feeling the familiar blend of pique and pride, said nothing until the great arse was finished.

'Well, what do you make of it?'

Snape looked to the dog, who looked at Bellatrix. 'It could mean anything, Bellatrix.'

'Bollocks. You know how he is.'

Snape inclined his head once. 'Perhaps.' Deliberately obtuse tosser! She was about to light into him when Sirius spoke up.

'Stop being a berk, Snape, you know she's right.'

'Oh, the dog has got an opinion. Do enlighten us, dog.'

'I shall, thanks. Trixie is right, this is some kind of ploy. You reckon he's warning you that he knows we know?'

Snape frowned and steepled his long, thin fingers. 'A good thought, Black, but no. I believe that he's too ego-centric for that. He believes himself smarter than we. In large part he is not wrong.'

'There's smart, and then there's clever, Snape. We might not have all his knowledge, but we're quick thinkers.'

'Some of us' agreed Snape, giving Sirius a sneer. Sirius cheerfully ignored him, and snapped his fingers. Kreacher appeared, bowed and glared sourly at the assembled people.

'Kreacher, when you told us about Reg, you said he took you to a cave. Could you find it again if someone took you?'

The elf squinted. 'Kreacher is thinking yes, but could not find cave again.'

'We think we might have an area. If someone took you near, could you find it?'

'Kreacher will try.'

'That's all we ask of you.'

Sirius looked thoughtful. 'What about your magical signature, Snape? The Dark Lord will know you were there if we aren't careful.'

'Not if I Polyjuice myself.'

'Polyjuice yourself as whom?'

Snape gave him a long look. 'We'll resurrect a good many dead men tonight, Black.'

'Ah.' Sirius nodded, mouth tight. Bellatrix opened her mouth to ask and then closed it; for the first time, she mused that there could be things which she didn't wish to know.

Instead, she rose and made her way out of the room. She had to trust them, she supposed, and that was that. She was lucky, after a fashion to have Snape on her side, she supposed, but that didn't make the bastard any easier to take.

The cave Kreacher brought them to was high in a sheer rock face, and disguised from all but the most intent searcher. Sirius had a weird sense of deja vu, as though he had done this all before.

Beside him, Kreacher was silent, except when he was directing them to the next step, taking them across the lake personally, muttering about Inferi. The vast blackness of the place seemed to have affected the elf, because he looked all round himself, sometimes shivering for no apparent reason.

Snape produced Wormtail from a pocket and made him change back. It was incredibly bizarre, seeing the twin Wormtails with Kreacher between them like some strange shadow.

'Drink the water, Wormtail.'

Wormtail did. The screaming started, and then Sirius was too busy to think about the strange feeling, and what it could mean.

When everything was over, the stench of burnt and dripping flesh hung over everything. Sirius found his legs didn't want to hold him, and sat down hard on the rocky, stinking slopes of the little island, still seeing them coming at he and Snape, savagely positive he was see it in his sleep.

Snape looked little better but held a locket in the palm of one hand. He carefully thumbed the catch and it sprung open.

Sirius rose shakily and took the parchment folded within. It was crisp and yellowed with age, but the writing was clear. He unfolded it and started to read, feeling oddly like his brother was there with them.

**_'"I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more."'_**

**_R.A.B_**

The feeling was stronger, the more he read, until it was as though Reg was at his shoulder. His skin was prickling, his hair tingling at the roots. He shuddered a little, half hearing Wormtail's moans behind them. His neck was mottled with bruises where the Inferi had tried to drag him under, and his eyes were rolling as he gibbered and gasped for breath.

Sirius folded the letter and started to put it in his pocket. He thought better of it. 'Kreacher, would you like to take this?'

The elf reached for it slowly. 'Kreacher would like it, yes.'

Sirius handed it over, and the elf tucked it in some pocket of his tea-towel, smiling. Snape put the locket in his waistcoat, not without regret if the look on his face was anything to go by.

'Kreacher, I want to examine this more deeply, but once it is done, if Black is amenable, I will give it to you.'

Sirius nodded. If Kreacher wanted the locket he could have it. His skin was cold, his scalp on fire. What was this? Was it some sort of spell?

He spun, wand raised, and felt his knees go to water. He was face to face with himself as he'd been, what, twenty years before? His wand dropped and he stepped back, not sure what to say to this...

'Ghost. I'm a ghost.'

'Reg?'

'No, Father Christmas. About time one of you came.'

'Regulus, my God.'

'Sirius. You look well, brother.' The ghost smiled at him and floated closer. Sirius felt his gorge work and shoved it down ruthlessly.

'I could say the same for you. Why...how...?'

Regulus shrugged. 'It was easy, you see. He wanted to test it on a live...volunteer is hardly the word, and I wanted out. This seemed the way to do it, I expect. I didn't think he'd have guessed...possibly he didn't. It might have been bad luck on my part.'

'What was, Reg?'

Regulus rolled his eyes. 'Slept through Defense, didn't we?'

'Regulus, stop being an arse and tell us already.'

Sirius might not have talked to his brother in seventeen years, but he'd snapped back into older brother mode at once.

'He put a spell on this place to geass the spirits of anyone who died here to act as guardians. It never occurred to him that I might not be willing to sacrifice Kreacher to that end.'

Kreacher was weeping. He raised withered hands to his eyes and tried to stop his tears from splashing on the island below them. Regulus floated closer. 'Hello, Kreacher. I've missed you.'

'Master Regulus, Kreacher is missing you every day.'

'How has your back been?'

'A misery, Master Regulus. But Master Sirius is home now. It is better. A little.' The elf sniffled and made as though to touch the spectral form, remembering at the last moment it was impossible.

'Home? So you finally stopped antagonising Mother and Father, did you, Sirius?'

Sirius shook his head. 'Not at all.'

'What, then? Did you give them a descendent?'

'Look, if this is how you're going to act, we're leaving.'

'That's right, run out like you always do. Big brave Gryffindor, can't ever find his courage when he needs it, can he?'

If Sirius had found the part of him that was still a big brother, Regulus had found the part of him that was a little brother, effortlessly digging into Sirius's skin and climbing under.

'Oh, please. Just because I didn't stay clinging to Mother's skirts, you-'

'No, you went to Uncle Alphard. That's loads better, hanging about Knockturn Alley and whoring with that degenerate old-'

'Oh, the Death Eater gets to decide who's a degenerate now, does he? Why don't you look round and see where that shite ended you up, hmm?'

'Stop it, both of you!' Snape used a sharp, loud voice totally at odds with Peter's nasal, quavery tones. Both brothers, living and dead, stopped their bickering and turned to look.

'This puerile one-upmanship ceases immediately. I thought, gentlemen-or would **boys** be appropriate?-you wanted to end this regime. Is that true, or should Kreacher and I simply leave you both to it?'

Sirius felt the usual ire at Snape, tempered by the hard knowledge the arse was usually being more or less honest. He swallowed hard.

'I'm sorry, Regulus. That was uncalled for.'

Regulus nodded. 'I am, too. Old patterns die hard.'

'Yes, well, Snape is right. Even is he is a berk about it.'

'Always was. He and Evan used to test experimental potions at meetings. Once turned Wilkes' hair bright blue.'

'Was it a good look for him?'

'Actually, yes. Severus, how have you been?'

'Well enough, Regulus, thank you.'

'Married now, I should think. Any sprats?'

'None, and no wife either. Things have got very odd out there.' Snape summarised everything that had happened in the past four years, and Regulus listened intently, sometimes asking a question or giving Sirius a verbal jab or three.

Sirius turned to his hovering brother. 'How did you know it was Snape?'

Regulus smirked. 'Who else? Your little friend Pettifog wouldn't have the bollocks to do this.'

'Pettigrew. Peter Pettigrew.'

'The rat man.'

'I shan't argue that.'

Snape, huffing, finished the tale. 'And so here we are, Regulus. Will you help us?'

'Whatever help is mine to give. I don't know what I can from here.'

Snape cocked his head. 'We'll find a way to sever the geass, firstly.'

'You make it sound simple.'

Sirius chuckled. 'It's rather what Snape does.'

'Heel, dog. It will likely take us some time, you understand.'

'That's the sole thing I've got in spades. Sirius?'

'Yes, Reg?'

'Stay the hell out of my room.' The three stared at one another for a moment and erupted into laughter, which echoed weirdly against the walls of the terrible cavern.

Back at Grimmauld Place, the two men, dragging the insensible and shaking Pettigrew, went to the library to start their search. Snape stunned Wormtail and sent back to his house with the tireless Mippy, having told Scabior that he couldn't get poor Chum out of Britain earlier without attracting notice. He was sworn to sending the rat back with Tamm, but until then he was Snape's to use.

'The first step is Feathering. Rather, Featherings.'

'And Mulciber. He had a sort of interest in those things, as I recall.'

'I'll contact him. Dog?'

'Virgin?'

'If I'd known you wanted to track your brother down in order to argue with him, I'd have Obliviated it out of you a long time ago.'

'You'd have to have a sibling to understand.'

'Bollocks.'

'No, thanks, but if you see you know who, I'm up for some fun.'

Snape went still. 'Trying to turn me into your pimp, Black?'

'Procurer. There's a difference, and no, you'd be pants at it.'

'You simpleton.'

Sirius ignored him. He browsed for a volume, found one that looked likely and started to research.

At Durmstrang, Moody-Feathering got the letter over breakfast. He read it aloud to his wife, knowing Snape would have Disillusioned the real contents. The fake letter was a cordial note about current Quidditch scores and a request that Des and Hetty join them for a week's visit at their convenience.

Moody-Feathering looked at his wife. 'Well, Hetty, what do you think?'

She dimpled winsomely at him. 'I'd like that. Desmond?'

'Mmm?'

'I'm going to have a baby.'

Moody-Feathering blinked slowly. 'Oh. That's good, Hetty.' He wished he could summon some excitement for his wife's sake. He stood and kissed her cheek. Perhaps she'd be happier, and he'd never objected to children on principle.

Hetty didn't seem to mind his lack of enthusiasm. 'Eight months to go.'

'Next school year, then.'

She nodded. 'I was thinking I'd turn that spare room into a nursery, if you didn't object.'

'Please do. Hetty? I'm sorry it's not different.' He simply didn't have those feeling for her or anyone else. He never had. He was glad to sometimes oblige her, because he thought she liked it, but that was the extent of it for him.

She patted his cheek. 'You're always kind to me. What more could I ask? Some men don't have the urge, is all.'

'Yes' he said, relieved to his core 'that's true. Would you...perhaps you'd prefer staying here to going back?'

She shook her head. 'No, Desmond. I'm your wife.'

'I know. But it's possible he'll seize me.'

'Then he'll seize us both.' She looked very determined, and Moody-Feathering wished he could be everything she merited. She was a tough girl, Hetty. She deserved better than an old man, even if he was in young body.

She straightened up, squaring her shoulders stoutly. 'If the boys can fight, we can do this.'

He nodded and finished his coffee, looking round the neat, cosy little flat. Out there was war, he knew. Death, maiming. He'd send yet more young men and women to their deaths. In here was calm and order and domesticity. A new child coming. His child.

He rose and went to prepare. His choice had been made years earlier.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Love to Countess Black and reviewers**

**Something incredibly dodgy happens this chapter. Like seriously, upsettingly dodgy. On the one hand, it probably really is the best chance the family has, and they've made provisions to make sure that the safety of vulnerable members is the number one priority. (And no one seemed very concerned in canon about the situation).**

**On the other hand, as someone who used to work with the vulnerable population mentioned, this strikes me as absolutely terrible for a lot of reasons.**

**So, to be clear: I DO NOT approve of this course of action at a personal level. HOWEVER, it likely is the best course IN THIS SPECIFIC, FICTIONAL CONTEXT, and like Snape said, cruel times call for cruel men. **

**Obviously, any real life concerns should be reported immediately to the proper authorities.**

**Madea's Rage**

The three former aurors (well, two aurors and a former trainee) gathered in the library of Grimmauld Place with Edric playing happily on the floor and Zdratza the elf following him, crooning in Bulgarian, to which he now responded as readily and enthusiastically as English. His first word had in fact been "ne" or no in Bulgarian.

Desmond-Moody pecked the baby's plump cheek and set him down on the rug. 'He's got your chin, Gennie.'

'Rabastan says so. I says he looks more like Mother.' She meant her own dear mother and Desmond-Moody, who'd met Emmeline's mother a few times, squinted to see the resemblance.

'A bit, I suppose. Rabastan's eyes, though.'

Sirius scooped the baby up as he crawled by and tossed him, giggling, into the air. Edric flailed with delight.

'He's good and heavy, too.'

Eugenia smiled. 'Isn't he? Now, theories so far?' She would have the elf take Edric as soon as things got serious, but for now it was good to soak up his presence and the affection the others plainly had for him.

They looked up as Snape came in and sat down with them, stopping to gently disentangle the baby's fist from his trouser leg. 'Good afternoon, all.'

'Snape.'

'Cousin Severus.'

'Snape.'

Snape pulled out a tiny package from inside his waistcoat and enlarged it. A large sheath of papers split forth. Sirius grabbed one and turned it over in his hand.

And dropped it just as quickly. 'God!' He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hand.

Snape smiled thinly. 'And that, Black, is why we don't grab things we haven't asked about. They might be covered in runes of an especially sanity-blasting nature.'

Eugenia darted her eyes toward the paper. 'Should I ask?'

Snape handed her a pair of wire rimmed spectacles, the lenses smoked to a deep grey by charms that would protect her sanity and her eyes. She slipped them on and studied the runes. Her stomach turned, skin prickling.

'Zdratza, remove Edric at once, please.' The elf did, and Eugenia kept reading, translating as she went.

'What part of it is this?'

'After the murder. These are sigils that lock the piece of soul into the item.'

She nodded and set it down, queasy. 'That's disgusting. How could he stand to...'

'Multiple times, if Malfoy is correct. Assuming the diary is, and the locket absolutely is, then that's two we know of and possibly more we don't.'

'It is even possible to do it more times than that? I thought one was nearly impossible and two would be...'

'Apparently what he did.' Snape donned his own pair of spectacles and picked up a second document.

'How do we find the others?'

Snape spread his hands. 'I would be glad to take suggestions on that front.'

The group fell to pondering, until Desmond-Moody, picking his thumbnail speculatively, said 'What about Slughorn?'

'Horace Slughorn?'

'Who else? He-You Know Who- was a member, wasn't he, of the Slug Club?'

The others looked at him blankly. 'Was he?'

'Moody-Feathering nodded slowly. 'I'm sure a person like that would have appealed to Horace's lust for fame. We could always find him and see what he knows.'

Snape was mulling this over. 'Possibly, but the odds he'll talk to us are fairly slim.'

'What about the children? He always did like collecting rare specimens. Three teenage war heroes would be right up his alley.'

Eugenia's stomach slid greasily. She considered herself to be a live and let live sort (and had always voted liberal democrat in the muggle elections), but Slughorn had always given her the creeps, and the auror's training Emmeline had about that sort of thing had made her understand why.

'You think that's a good idea?'

'No' said Desmond-Moody flatly 'but so long as one of us is nearby, it ought to be fine.'

'I'll do it. Hermione would need a chaperone anyhow.'

'Her elf.'

'I'll insist on staying in person, and she won't say no. It's not her I'm worried about.'

The men nodded in understanding. 'You'll make it happen, once he's found?'

'Of course I will. The question is going to be whether he'll let himself be found at all.'

Sirius grinned, eyes gleaming. 'Leave that to me, darling.' So they did, and in less than two days' time, he'd found the man they needed.

Moody-Feathering was deputed to inform the children about the plan. He found them sitting in a parlour, cheerily playing gobstones and chatting about nothing in particular.

He lowered himself into a chair and relaxed for a moment. He had to admit, after two years he was seeing them less and less as incipient Death Eaters and more as nephews and a niece. He didn't quite know how he felt about that.

He decided this couldn't wait. 'We've a plan, but it needs for your help.'

All three faced him, alert as owls, as he spelt out what was happening. There was a silence, and then Viktor said, very slowly 'This man... likes...children.'

The word was hovering behind all their lips, but to say it would be to invite the whole ugly truth into the room, that they were inviting someone like that freely into their midst.

'There's never been any proof, but yes, that's the concern.'

'And ve need him to finish this.'

'Probably.'

'How can ve make sure he von't hurt somevon? Drago and I are too old, but Anu and Ivan and Yana are not.'

Moody-Feathering felt disgusted with himself for approving of this. 'Not Yana, if that's any help. And Ivan is probably a little young.'

It was no help at all. The room was leaden. Moody-Feathering's stomach was boiling with acid and the sense he'd betrayed them by agreeing to this.

'He worked for decades at Hogwarts. There was never an...a proven incident.'

'If there wasn't' said Hermione, eyes boring into his 'then why is everyone worried?'

'Because it's good to be careful.'

The three seemed to be communing amongst themselves. 'Is there no other way?'

'It's possible he knows nothing. In that case, we might well find a way to get rid of him. A sinecure someplace, some minimal thing like that.'

Hermione flexed her numb hand. 'I don't like this.'

The two boys nodded. 'Herm-on-nee-knee is vright. Ve cannot vrisk the children that vay.'

'This could be our only hope.'

'There has to be a way to make this work.' Draco was staring into the middle distance, clearly pondering. He tugged the collars of his robes a bit, and then rose to pace.

'What if we asked him to Sofia to teach English? We've any number of people who could learn, and they could make sure nothing untoward happens.'

Hermione was still frowning. 'I don't know. I still feel like we've some very vulnerable people about us.'

Viktor nodded but seemed to be considering. 'Then ve ask them to help us. I vill talk to Anu-unless you vant to do it, Uncle-and ask him to vatch. Maybe Snape could convince ' he made a gesture to indicate he meant the Dark Lord-'that his man is spying on us. Yes?'

'That could work.' Draco stopped pacing and sat back down. Hermione, still flexing, sighed, signalling her assent.

'All right, but the first untoward thing this man does...' She looked meaningfully at them and both boys nodded.

'I vill take of it, Herm-on-nee-knee.'

'No.' She smiled at him. 'I will.'

Moody-Feathering suppressed a shiver. He had no doubt she could do it, whatever "it" happened to be. The boys, too, nodded respectfully. It would be very interesting, decided Moody-Feathering, to watch the girl to see how she was at thirty. Or even twenty, given the rate things were going. He stood up and went to find Snape, to tell him the plan was moving ahead.

Later that night, Snape found himself in a tumble-down shack in a remote part of Yorkshire. He raised his wand and simply blasted his way in. He heard shouting and Mippy's reedy little voice, and stepped into the hut as calmly as he could, robes swishing.

'Good evening, Professor.'

'S-Severus! Severus Snape! Have you been sent to kill me? Oh, please don't kill me! I've told them, told them I don't-oh!' He slumped, feigning unconsciousness, and Snape, not without a degree of malicious pleasure, promptly shot a jet of ice water from the end of his wand, soaking the old man.

He sat up, sputtering, and Snape bent closer. 'The Dark Lord has need of your talents, Horace. I would seriously consider hearing out his proposal.' He snapped his fingers and Mippy hauled the fellow to his feet.

The Dark Lord allowed them into his presence at once. Sitting in state in Dumbledore's former quarters, he smiled, rising on coltish legs to greet his guests. Snape, with many years of experience in adolescents, guessed that he was due for a growth spurt soon. He bowed, and Slughorn, face white as chalk, squeaked and lowered his bulk a bit.

'Ah, Professor Slughorn, how good to see you, finally. We have often reflected on Our time in your class.'

'Ahh...ahhh...'

'Severus, you look wan to Us. Have you been eating?'

Snape wondered for a split second whether the girl had someone got to the Dark Lord, or else, God forbid, Madam Black had. That was insane, but it occurred to him all the same.

'A touch of the flu, my lord.'

'See you take something for it. Please, gentlemen, sit down.'

Snape knew what the Dark Lord was going to tell Slughorn, because ninety percent of it was his idea. '"It would behove your lordship to know what was going on in Bulgaria, after all. If it's nothing, then your lordship's given them quite a boon in Slughorn. He is an excellent teacher, after all.'

'Yes' agreed the Dark Lord with a strange look on his face. 'A very good teacher.'

The Dark Lord pontificated at length before he came to the point, but when he did Slughorn agreed at once.

'We are relying on you, Horace. You mustn't let Us down.'

'No, my lord.'

'That will be all, then. Severus, stay.'

Snape sat at the indicated place. He wanted to be shut of this place; the Dark Lord had lately grown more grandiose and volatile, and that scared him.

'It was an excellent idea, Severus, sending Slughorn to the Bulgarian. Do you suppose they're fomenting revolt against Us?'

'No, my lord. The boy himself is unambitious and easily led.'

'We thought the girl might be the problem.'

Snape shook his head rapidly. 'I would be surprised, my lord. Madam Krum has always been an exemplary servant to yourself.'

'I suppose. But later...?'

'They are very young, my lord. A little guidance from your lordship would not o amiss.'

'Have the children read Our books?'

'The Letters, my lord. It was how Madam Krum taught him to read English.'

The Dark Lord's face split into Potter's wide, slightly crooked smile. Lily's eyes were glowing with pleasure. 'How droll. We shall send them the most recent editions of Our biography.'

'That would surely help. And if there is nothing to fear, than Slughorn will simply work on teaching the family English.'

'That would hardly go amiss. Those accents are absurd. But you know, Severus, I do see Achilles in that girl sometimes. More his dear wife, but definitely Achilles. How is Rabastan's baby?'

'Healthy and sleek, my lord.'

'Bright, would you say?'

'I believe so. And magical, I'm told.'

The Dark Lord smiled again. 'Good. Very good. We are relying on you as well, Severus. Guide the children for Us.'

'I will do whatever I might, my lord.'

'We've every faith in you. Send in Gibbon, please. Our head is pounding.' The Dark Lord waved him out, and Snape went, relieved and appalled at what they had to do to finish this farce. The memory of Lily's eyes burnt him for a long time as he walked the corridors like the ghost of himself.

The next morning, Draco would have understood perfectly. He was at Grimmauld Place with the other two, and Anu, listening to his aunt lecturing them about Legilimency. Anu was squirming a little, clearly wanting to be elsewhere.

'And you'll all practice what we've discussed?'

They all agreed they would. Aunt Trixie nodded and they rose, to go tend other gardens. Hermione was clearly eager to begin practicing right away, nearly vibrating with excitement.

'Practice with me, Viktor?'

He nodded and they headed for a smaller parlour, speaking animatedly in Bulgarian. Draco wished he and Vaike had a common language, and decided with a sigh to see about learning Estonian. He wasn't very good at languages, but he supposed speaking through translation charms forever might be no fun. His aunt was fixing him with a gimlety look of dissatisfaction.

'Aunt Trixie?'

'Why don't you ever go and have fun? All of you, always working. It's not natural. Girl! Hermione!'

Hermione poked her head in, cheeks rosy. Draco decided to tease Viktor about what had clearly been more kissing than practicing when he had a chance.

'Yes, Mother?'

'You and the boys-boys-go and do something fun. Go shopping, or run outside, or...something. I don't know, whatever young people do! Narcissa!'

Mother walked in from the dining room, where she'd been having her usual snack of a cucumber sandwich and milk. 'Trixie?'

'What do young people do?'

'Sorry?'

'The children are too serious. What do young people do when they aren't ruling countries and such?'

Mother kept a straight face, somehow. 'I suppose they have fun amongst themselves. Perhaps a bit of dancing, or a promenade somewhere?'

'I suppose.' Aunt Trixie glowered. 'Girl, what would you like to do?'

Hermione grinned. 'We could explore the attic a bit.'

'No, no, no! No more grubbing about dirty places. Something healthful. Narcissa, we're taking the children to the sea today. Do you know a place?'

Mother nodded. 'There's cousin Briseis's cottage. That's right on the sea shore.'

'Fine, we'll go there. Girl, would you have that elf pack us some food? And have you got a bathing costume?'

Hermione bent closer to her mother. 'What do witches swim in, Mother?'

Her mother looked to the side. 'I'm sure the elf will find you something. Cissy, you bring yours as well, we're all going to bathe in the sea.'

'Should we ask Aunt Gennie and Aunt Hetty to come? And Aunt Cunegarde?'

'That might be good for Hetty, Bellatrix. The water will help her feel a bit better.'

Aunt Hetty, Draco knew, was going to have a baby in February or March. That made him smile, and it would be nice to have a playmate for Edric. He and Vaike could take the babies for walks and to splash in the lake at Durmstrang.

The ladies both accepted, and so an hour later the company set off in a carriage, with Bess for protection. Viktor and Hermione spent most of the trip playing with Edric, teaching him a counting game.

Anu was thoughtful, watching England fly by. 'Nene will never believe I've swam in the sea, you know.'

'She will. Hadn't you ever seen it before a few days ago?'

'No. Well, a little when I flew to Tirana the first time.'

'Flew to Tirana?'

'When Nene wanted to send me to school. We sold a goat and took the mail coach to Tirana. It flew over the coast so we saw the sea a bit. There were muggle ships as big as a hundred coaches.'

Draco had never heard that story. 'Then what happened?'

'We went to the Ministry. Nene talked to a man. She convinced him to send me to Durmstrang since I couldn't go to the village school.'

'Why not?'

'It was burnt. The madrassa, too, so I had to leave home.'

'It was brave of your mother to go and talk to that man.'

'It was, too. She got him to pay for me to go, even. Albania has money for that.'

'Shall we take a picture to send her?'

'Could we?'

'It could be arranged, I'm sure.' Draco joined Tamm in watching England sailing by. The escort of aurors was discreet, as much spies as bodyguards. They touched down on a beautiful, pristine beach and watched the elf set up their umbrellas, and went to take a look round the cabin.

English wizards and witches typically did not swim. Draco, for instance, had had to learn from scratch his first year at Durmstrang. Witches swam even less than wizards, but they did sometimes bathe in the shallows of the sea, as salt water was held to be a near panacea for many ailments.

The ladies changed into bathing gowns, long linen shifts thought to be appropriate to the activity, and charmed to stay opaque when wet. Laughing, they ventured into the shallows and splashed about, chatting with one another. Even Cunegarde allowed herself to be pushed into the shallows and doused in the healing sea water.

The boys had no such reticence, and, finding a spot a bit away, stripped to their smalls and changed into bathing costumes, diving into the surf. All three were extremely proficient swimmers, and soon paddling happily in the water, with Bess joining them, snapping at the waves, tail wagging.

Draco was startled when his cousin swam over, head looking otter sleek from the water. None of them had any idea Hermione could even swim. She flanked Viktor and smiled, treading water.

'Swim with me?'

'I vould like that. Drago, Anu, you vill stay and vatch the ladies?'

'Of course. Anu, stay close, please.' Anu obediently swam closer, and stood on his head under the water, bare feet kicking happily in the warm air.

Draco floated on his back, basking in the salty water and the sheer joy of having fun again. When Mother went and sat under the umbrella, he joined her, giving stern orders that Anu should stay in sight.

Mother was letting her hair dry in the breeze. Draco hadn't seen it loose very often, and thought it very pretty flashing in the sun. When she saw him, she motioned for the elf to pin it up again-it would hardly be appropriate for one of the other lads to see her unbound.

'Draco? Something wrong, darling?'

'Just wanted to see how you are, Mother.' Draco sat down, drying his own hair with a towel his valet handed him. The air smelt of warm, salty water and the mouth-watering scent of lunch.

Draco settled back against the umbrella. 'It's nice here.'

'It was my cousin three time's removed's summer get away. When you marry, Draco, I'll give it to you as a honeymoon gift.'

'I'd like that. Vaike too, I think.' He thought about how it would be to be married and staying here, playing in the water, inviting the family for day trips, teaching Edric and Aunt Hetty's baby to swim.

'Knut for your thoughts, love?'

Draco raked his hand through his hair and looked at the aurors, stationed a hundred metres away, nearly hidden from sight. Mother nodded slowly, understanding what he meant at once.

'If there was ever anything I might do, Mother, to help you and Father, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?'

Mother reached up to cup his cheek, warm from the sun. 'Of course, love. And you as well?'

'Yes.' Draco wanted to ask her so many things. The awful things the Dark Lord had said were still ringing in his ears, and so, unable to think of what else to do, he called his valet.

'I'm going to lie down as though I've a headache. I want you to Silence Mother and I whilst making it look as though you're doing something else. Do you understand?'

The elf nodded and did just that. Draco stretched out. He still didn't much like the sea shore, but a nap in the shade would be rather pleasant. He laid down with his head in his mother's lap, as though he felt poorly.

'Mother, during that lunch...'

'I know. Your aunt mentioned some things Hermione told her about.'

'I'm sorry. I couldn't make it stop.'

'No, you couldn't, darling. No one blames you, least of all me. A person's opinions are worth exactly as much as they show themselves to be.'

He nodded. Mother was gently smoothing his hair and he shut his eyes, relaxing. It had been a good idea to do this, he thought. They needed a bit of play.

'You know, Draco, your sister's birthday was last month. Sixteen May.'

'I gave offerings, Mother. She would have been eight, is that right?'

'Yes. I miss Drusilla every day.'

Draco nodded. He was deeply sorry his sister had not lived, and whilst he didn't feel it as keenly as his mother (and Father?) did, he wanted to support their grief as well as he was able.

'I'm sorry, Mother.'

'It was for the best, perhaps. I believe...Father and I believe...that your sister is caring for us. Do you think so?'

Draco swallowed. 'On that march through the mountains, I saw Grandfather.'

'Did you?'

'He told me not to follow him. I argued.'

Mother smiled a little. 'That doesn't surprise me.'

'He had come for the baby. His name was Spas.'

'His mother is surely comforted, knowing you were with him at the end, Draco.'

'Viktor said that too.'

'It's true.'

'I didn't want to let him go, Mother. I didn't know he was...'

'It's all right, Draco. What happened then?'

'They put me to bed. The next thing I really remember is being in England.'

Mother murmured. 'That was a very hard night, wasn't it?'

'Barty came in, you know.'

'Came in?'

'I was having a bad dream and he came in and sat with me after I woke up.'

Mother smiled sadly. 'When Barty was young, he was a very sweet young man. It kills us all to see him like he is now.'

'He's not unhappy, Mother.'

'No, and that's part of what hurts so.'

Draco wondered what to say to that. Fortunately, Mother spared him the trouble. 'Father and I were talking about your sister right before the second battle at Castle Dinev. I told him that it comforted me to think she was spared being used the way other of our children have.'

Draco nodded, watching as the ladies waded delicately, sometimes bringing Aunt Cunegarde cups of sea water to pour on herself to help her joints. She was glowering in a fashion that indicated she was well pleased by events.

'It doesn't feel real to me now.'

'What doesn't, sweetheart?'

'This. Sometimes I'm afraid it's a hallucination and I'm dying of fever on the march through the Rhodopes.'

'Oh, Draco.'

'Mother? Do you ever dream of it?'

'Dream of what happened?'

'Yes. I do.'

'Well, no, I never have. What do you dream?'

Draco shivered. 'Did you hear about what Hermione did when we took the Ministry, Mother?'

'The firestorm.'

'It's true. I watched her do it. It was...I hear them screaming as they burn. At night.'

Mother was quiet a long time. 'What else, Draco?'

'Those parents. I see them taking all those daises.' He flashed on the long procession of magical ships, each heading to a different country, their cargo the dead and the grieving. He shuddered, and Mother stroked his cheek with her cool hand.

'No matter what, Draco, Father and I are awfully proud of you.'

'Thank you, Mother.'

'Do you really have a headache?'

He shook his head. 'I might nap anyhow.'

'Do. I'll stay until you've fallen asleep.'

'I would like that.'

After her son dozed off (it was kneazle sleep, not a real nap), Narcissa rose and padded down to the edge of the water. Her sister was in neck deep, sometimes ducking under.

'Hello, Trixie!'

'Hello, Cissy. Come and get in the water properly, you shan't reap the benefits if you don't.'

Narcissa waded in. Neck deep on Trixie was less so on her. 'You did remember to have your maid rub your skin down with lotion so you won't get a tan, Bellatrix?'

'I did. Has Draco got another migraine?'

'Just a little too much sun, I think.'

Bellatrix waved to Hermione, who was splashing with her husband some twenty or so metres away. Tamm was with them, floating on his back to look at the sky.

'It was a good idea, coming here today. The boys certainly swim like fish, don't they?'

'And Hermione. I'd no idea she could even swim.'

'I think the muggles used to take her to the sea shore every so often.'

'There's a picture of that, come to think of it.' Bellatrix ducked under again, and came up scrubbing at her eyes.

'We ought to have done this ages ago. It's so...empty out here, isn't it?

Narcissa nodded. She could doggy-paddle a bit, and got closer to her sister. 'Trixie?'

Bellatrix acted as though she was sluicing water over her sister's neck and shoulders as she whispered about the cave, saying the odd word louder, so it sounded like she was telling her sister some piece of gossip.

Narcissa's stomach clenched. Poor Regulus. She forced herself to laugh. 'You didn't either, Bellatrix!'

'I did! She said that (we have to find a way to break it) and she wouldn't so much as look at it.'

'I always said she (how do we do that?) wasn't any better than she ought to be.'

'Women like that (Snape is looking) aren't. And anyhow (have Malfoy bring it tonight) they deserve one another.'

'I couldn't agree more! Trixie!' Her sister had used her wand to sluice some water over Narcissa's head, and she sputtered. Bellatrix giggled and quickly moved backward to avoid retaliation.

Hermione stopped. Viktor and Anu, too, stopped and stared. All three walked closer, eyes wide. 'Are Mother and Aunt Cissy...?'

Viktor laughed. 'I vish I had picture.'

Bellatrix Lestrange, once the most feared and still the most hated woman in Europe, was having a water fight with her sister. Narcissa Malfoy, the most emulated and envied matron in all Britain, was fighting back, both of them splashing and laughing like girls as they tried to duck one another under the water.

Draco chose that moment to wake, and got into the water in time to see his serene, loving, dignified mother launch a jet of water at her sister and then squeal when she got splashed back.

Aunt Hetty and Aunt Gennie stared in shock and then, laughing themselves, joined in. The young people quietly started making their way toward the fray, trying to stay low, using all their training.

Aunt Cunegarde's quavering voice cut them off. 'Linky, go and splash the children. It's not meet they shouldn't be involved if their elders are.' The elf, seamed face alight with pleasure, did so, and the group finally collapsed laughing a few minutes later in one another's arms.

The whisper went round the group. They split up in the afternoon, and when they assembled that evening, Lucius Malfoy held a parcel wrapped in oilcloth. Barty had been excluded from the meeting due to his condition, and Anu, due to his youth. Cunegarde was sleeping upstairs, and Hetty had been sternly ordered to stay far from the diary and not touch it or anything else she had even the slightest inkling might not be safe.

The others were under strict instructions as well. Lucius, Rodolphus and Rabastan had all fathered children, and so, their duty done, could handle it, but the two lads had not, nor Hermione had children, and it could be ruinous if one of them (especially the girl) handled the thing.

Lucius unwrapped it slowly. A book, covered in old black leather, pages a touch yellowed. No one said anything. No one had to.

Outside the parlour, the front door was blasted inward. 'Ministry! This is a raid!'


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Love to reviewers and my dear Countess Black, who keeps me sane-ish.**

**Mea culpa: I realised, re-reading the last chapter, that I forgot to note that Draco and Anu are using a translation spell. Anu's a pretty smart kid, but he's not speaking unaccented English yet :) Whoops!**

**This was a really hard chapter. If anyone out there is dealing with a similar issue, please know I hope with my whole heart that you find peace and comfort. It can be impossibly difficult-and infinitely painful-to realise, as one of the characters does, that some things simply will not change. Even as an adult. Especially as an adult.**

Hetty Gill Feathering had had a life that was, if not as hard as Sose Tamm's, not easy, either. Of her parents she knew absolutely nothing. One or both of them had left her at the Wizarding orphanage in Merseyside without the slightest hint of who she was or why they were surrendering her.

It had sometimes bothered her when she was young. Most of the other thirty-three girls had some hint of who their parents were-a handkerchief left, a note that still smelt faintly of perfume, a trinket of some kind.

Not Hetty. She had dropped off as perfunctorily as a milkman might deliver a bottle of milk, and apparently never thought of again. As she'd aged, it had ceased to matter very much to her; she was one of those people gifted with an usually sharp empathy for others, and she believed her mother must have had good reason for leaving her so totally.

Or perhaps not. Either way, it was what it was, and she had gone through Hogwarts head high, not caring what some of the Slytherins said about her patched robes and hand me down jumpers.

She'd started to work for Mother Goforth two days after she'd left the orphanage and never regretted it once. Mother had sat in her great chair, a quivering mass of a woman with aggressively red hair, and waved beringed hands at the young Hetty.

'Girls come to me to cover their shame, or to run from something. Why have you come?'

'I want a job.'

'What are you, girl?'

'A whore. Aren't I?' She'd tilted her head at the woman and Mother had laughed, head thrown back. Hetty knew she'd won when the madam called her elf to take Hetty to the Hospital and have her examined.

Mother had a final piece of advice for her when she came back. 'You girls' she'd said 'come to me as bastards, ruined woman and paupers. I make you queens. Do you know how, Hetty?'

'No, Mother.'

'Because a queen isn't robes or a fancy crown. A queen is the attitude. You've something on you men will pay for. Never forget that, girl-you're **someone**, and if anyone tries to tell you otherwise, the hell with them.'

Hetty bobbed a curtsey and set off, head high, to prepare for her first night of work. Now, faced with aurors armed with a warrant of seizure for any potentially 'dangerous, subversive or illegal' materials, she fell back on that. Raising her chin, she stepped up to the lead auror and smiled sweetly.

'Goodness, what a fuss you've made!'

We've a warrant of seizure, Madam, from-'

'I know you have. Didn't it occur to you to knock nicely?'

'Madame, we're to search the premises for-'

'Yes, darling, I heard you. Why don't you come and sit down, hmm? We'll sort all this out. Hermione, sweetness, shouldn't Rinky get these gentlemen something to drink?'

Hermione nodded to her elf, who came back with wine. The elf handed out goblets to the shocked aurors whilst Hetty worked on plying her magic.

'Madam, thank you, but surely you understand-'

'I understand my nephew is asleep upstairs, and that this ruckus isn't needed. Viktor will certainly let you do whatever you need. Won't you, Viktor?'

Viktor, who looked as shocked as the aurors, shook his head and then blushed. 'Sorry. I forgot it is other vay in England. Yes, please. But Aunt Hetty is vright. Edric is not vell, he needs his vrest.'

The auror handed the warrant over. Rodolphus Lestrange, who was nearly green in the face, gave him a terrible look. 'Swithins, McDonald, what is this?'

'Orders, sir.'

'From whom?'

'Mr. Mcnair says some foreign agitators were caught tonight in Holborn. Some of them were apparently Bulgarians and-'

'Apparently? Were they or were they not, McDonald?' Rodolphus's voice was stern but not angry. 'Surely you know better than to assume, and furthermore, that entrance might have hurt someone. Did either of you even stop and check your corners? Swithins?'

'No, sir, but-'

'You would have been caught in the crossfire for certain had an assailant or assailants been lurking. Sit down, the both of you. I intend to straighten this out.' He motioned to two overstuffed chairs and the befuddled aurors sat, warrant forgot about in the confusion of intending to raid a dangerous house and getting scolded at like children instead.

Meantime, Lucius had used the din to slip the diary to his elf, who vanished silently, probably to bring the thing back to Malfoy Manor. He sat down, scowling fiercely, and fixed the aurors with a hard, cold stare.

'The very second my brother in law has sorted this out, you will get me Walden Mcnair and bring him here in person. Do you have any idea the magnitude of the incident this could cause? It's lucky for you the Vicereine happens to my niece, or else I'd have you both thrown in the coldest cells of Azkaban. You might have harmed a head of state! Did either of you think of that for even a second?'

'Sir, I-'

'Now, the Vicereine is more inclined than I to be merciful, so you both ought to get on your knees and thank your ancestors she will no doubt intercede on your behalves. Furthermore, Madam Feathering is the family way. Suppose you had shocked her worse than you did?'

The aurors were squirming, totally off guard. 'Mr. Malfoy, we-'

'Walden says it was all a mistake. He's coming right now.' Rodolphus pulled his head from out the fireplace and sat back on his heels.

'Now, I want the two of you to go back to the Ministry and wait. I'll be along to deal with your shameful lapses in protocol as quickly as I am able.' The two, shaken to their bones, bowed and left at once, nearly scurrying.

When they'd gone, the whole room sighed in relief. Kreacher had been under strict orders about what to do should this very thing happen, and he returned looking as het up as an elf can.

Meantime, Hetty's maid had appeared, and escorted her to a settee to sit down. Eugenia came at once, worriedly checking her pulse, muttering fiercely about idiots who can't even enter a house properly.

The other ladies came as well, and gathered protectively about her, all of them looking ready to attack en masse should anyone threaten or upset her. Hetty couldn't help but smile, feeling pampered by the attention, and quite invigorated besides. She scooted over and Hermione sat down next to her, holding one hand.

Viktor was pacing, fists knotted, jaw tight. '*_Someone might have been hurt.*'_

_'*If they're raiding here, they've raided the other houses as well.*'_

_'*No doubt.*'_

Any further conversation was cut off by the hiss of the Floo, and Walden Mcnair stepped through, bald head gleaming. He bowed to the ladies and sat down when offered a chair.

'I am so sorry about that. An accident, you understand.'

'What happened, Walden?'

Mcnair shrugged apologetically. 'There was a misunderstanding between myself and Wensley in Documentation. I ordered a team of aurors detailed to watch the Embassy to protect it from unsavoury elements and the ass-my apologies, ladies- somehow misread the order. I'll have his job for this, I assure you.'

'Surely, Mr. Mcnair, there's no need.' Hermione smiled charmingly and leant over to touch his sleeve. 'An accident is an accident, and no one was hurt, really.'

'It is inexcusable the family was inconvenienced, Vicereine.'

'Viktor, what do you think?'

Viktor managed a smile as well. 'My vife is vright. Surely a *reprimand* would serve just as vell? Ve all make mistakes, no?'

'You are too gracious. Madam Feathering, I will summon Gibbon at once.'

Hetty shook her head no. 'Oh, I'm sure I'm fine. It was a bit of surprise, but really, everything is all right.'

'I insist, Madam. Feathering, do you say so?'

Des nodded. 'I'd sleep more easily, to be sure.'

'Congratulations, by the way. How fortunate for you. My own Wetherell is engaged now, you know.'

'Miss Ropion is a close friend to my niece.'

'She's mentioned. If that's to be all, should you like to go and help me get this sorted out, Rodolphus, Lucius?'

'I would, yes. Lucius?'

'Of course. Hetty, should we get you anything?'

'Thank you, no. I'm feeling very well.' She tried to look brave and wilting as the men bowed and followed Mcnair into the Floo.

When they had gone, the rest of them warded the fireplace and then sat, visibly shaken now that it was safe to be. Upstairs, Edric had started to fuss and Zdratza brought him down.

'Well' said Snape finally 'this rather changes things.' And it did.

In the kitchen, Kreacher was slamming pans and rattling dishes, lipless mouth mashed into a tight line. The swinging door opened and Kreacher was startled and appalled to see it was the young Mistress, who came in and leant against a counter, eyes huge.

Her hands were shaking, the right more than the left. She smiled at him and relaxed a bit. 'Silly, isn't it? I wasn't a bit afraid during, but now I'm-I'm...oh.' She closed her eyes and shivered.

'Are you all right, Kreacher?'

'Yes, Mistress. Kreacher is fine.' He glowered and moved his hand, pulling a chair away from the table. Frankly, it struck him as obscene to have her in there at all. A Pureblood lady, he thought, had no need to be in a kitchen at all.

Mistress put her head up. 'I need something to do, Kreacher. Are there some vegetables to chop or something? I've nervous energy suddenly.'

Kreacher glowered fiercely. 'It is not fitting. Mistress is going to lie down, and Kreacher will bring up a toddy.'

'Kreacher! I'm fourteen!'

'Almost fifteen.'

'No, Kreacher. Rinky?' Rinky appeared immediately, hovering close to his mistress. Most house elves have very little use for their fellows, but Kreacher was grudgingly willing to admit that it was obvious how much this particular elf loved his girl.

'Rinky, does anyone need anything right now, do you know?'

'No, Miss. Miss is needing a calming potion?'

'No. No, I'm all right. I couldn't let them see me shaking, was all.' She reached for her handkerchief in her pocket and nearly dropped it. Rinky handed it back and gave Kreacher a long look over her head, which the elf understood at once. Both elves had spent too many years caring for wizards and witches not to know when they were being got round.

'Miss is taking a hot bath now and then resting.'

'I don't have the time. Has Healer Gibbon seen Aunt Hetty yet?'

'Healer is seeing her right now, Miss. Miss is coming and taking a hot bath now?'

'Soon, Rinky. Kreacher, would you mind bringing Healer Gibbon a glass of port? It was awfully nice of him to come. And please ask if anyone else needs anything, all right?'

When Kreacher came back, he found the young mistress and her body servant still arguing. 'Rinky, I'm fine. Stop it!'

Kreacher had never heard the young mistress use anything but a friendly tone and it startled him, but not too much. She was clearly telling them she needed the care only an elf could give, and both of them were very willing to help. Kreacher shook his head, neck bones grating; humans were such helpless, funny creatures. What did muggles do with no elves to protect them from themselves?

Young Mistress finally stopped arguing and let her eyes close. 'I'm sorry, Rinky. That was uncalled for.' Kreacher nearly stopped dead. It was almost unknown to him for a witch to apologise to a mere elf. Rinky seemed used to it; he bent and shirred comfortingly until she raised her head.

'Would you mind checking on Aunt Cunegarde? I'd like to talk to her, if she's awake. And are the others all right? Barty wanders at night.'

Kreacher poured the young Mistress a large glass of violet crème. She sipped it, the goblet slopping a little bit. She grimaced. 'It's delicious, Kreacher. I'm just frustrated.'

'And scared.'

She nodded. 'And scared. It was so close.' She sipped more violet creme and then motioned him closer, swishing a Silencing bubble about them both to be totally sure. 'It's hidden?'

Kreacher nodded. He had taken the locket and hidden it in the secret panel in his cupboard. He suspected that no one but him knew it even existed, and he felt certain an auror wouldn't deign to search a house elf's personal effects.

'Don't tell anyone where it is, Kreacher. Just keep it safe.' The young Mistress drank more violet crème and cancelled the bubble.

'Is there anything you need, Kreacher? A new tea towel or something?' Young Mistress had flatly insisted that Kreacher replace his tattered loincloth with a tea towel in snowy white, or a special one for events, with the family crest over his heart as in Continental fashion. Kreacher thought this strange and a touch absurd, but he liked being clean (young Mistress also insisted he bathe daily) and it seemed to make the Master happy.

'No, Mistress. It would make Kreacher happy if Mistress felt better.'

She smiled and squeezed his hand. 'Soon, Kreacher.'

Rinky came back and announced that Madam Cunegarde would see Miss now. So the young Mistress, elves in tow, headed up the stairs and to the room that had been designated for the old woman's use.

Cunegarde Lestrange Wilkes Mulciber Lestrange was propped up on goose down pillows, face still covered in powder and rouge, huge wig (pistachio green today) tottering above the whole.

'Hello, Aunt Cunegarde.'

She sat up a bit straighter and motioned for Linky to adjust her wig a bit to the left. 'So you've remembered I'm still alive, have you?'

The girl came closer. 'I'm sorry I couldn't come up earlier, Aunt. How have you been?'

'As well as I can be, getting shuffled about this way. You look absolutely peaky, girl. Stop ambling about and sit down.' The old woman waved a hand at the place next to her and the girl climbed up, settling in to tell what had happened. Grimly unsurprised, Cunegarde listened to it all, nodding a bit in the right places.

'A mix up, you say? Surely none of you actually believe that?'

The girl went pink. 'I'm sure it's just a-'

'Linky, my wand.' The elf handed it over and Cunegarde swished a Silencing bubble and then fixed her great niece with a fearsome glare.

'You tried to make an intrigue without Walburga and I? We've survived more plots than any of you combined, and that includes that greasy little Halfblood friend of Evan's. Why doesn't he ever wash his hair?'

'It might just look like that, Aunt.'

'Bosh, no one's hair looks like that naturally. Anyway, summon them all, and that husband of yours as well. We'll soon sort this out.' She sent her Linky, and two minutes later Rabastan, Viktor and the Halfblood were getting the tongue-lashing of their lives. Lucius Malfoy's son whatever-his-name-was had come as well, and stood shame faced as Cunegarde pontificated about the collective follies of every person in the room. Snape's mongrel trotted in late and sat beside his master, tail thumping.

'And furthermore, why does Linky tell me there is a strange man wandering this house at night? Do any of you know anything about that? It's hardly fitting with so many matrons about, you know!'

The greasy Halfblood huffed and poked the dog. 'Might as well show her, dog.'

The dog shifted, and a thin man with thick, curly black hair stood in his place. He bowed, and rose smiling. 'Aunt Cunegarde, it's been simply ages.'

Cunegarde Lestrange Wilkes Mulciber Lestrange didn't shriek. She didn't even cry out. She brought her lorgnette to her eyes and studied him.

'Nephew Sirius. Reports of your death have been greatly exaggerated.'

And her once dead nephew threw back his head and laughed a barking laugh. The other smiled, apparently startled by her sang-froid. Cunegarde called for a lap desk and handed the quill to Abraxas Malfoy's grandson.

'Write this down, whatever your name is-no, don't tell me, I'll remember it by and by. Now, I will teach you how to mount a proper conspiracy. And next time you meet, do invite me. No one ever suspects old women.'

After the men had been shooed out and Abraxas's grandson turned out to be named Draco (or was it Drogo? Something like that, anyhow) Cunegarde turned her formidable attentions on her niece, whom she had sternly set to resting on the pillows.

'Well, girl, are you as tired yet as I told you you'd be?'

'I am.' She looked it, too. One hand was shaking a little and Cunegarde squinted suspiciously at it.

'What's wrong with your hand, then?'

'Nerve damage. It shan't ever be better, more than likely.'

'No? That's two of us, then.' Her own hands trembled constantly due to her great age, and she held one up to demonstrate. The two hands, one of them fleshy and soft and pink, one a withered claw spackled in jewels, could have served as models had an artist wished to paint youth and age at the same time.

'And your part in all this, girl?'

The girl opened her eyes. 'Whatever is has to be, Aunt Cunegarde.'

'It heartens me to hear you say that. You've learnt your lessons well, it would seem.' And she decided to enlighten her niece further as they lay in the bed listening for the door to indicate Rodolphus and Lucius had come home.

When the door opened, Cunegarde set up straighter and smiled. 'Send my nephew and his brother in law up, Linky, I wish to speak to them.' She motioned for Hermione to go and the girl scooted out, clearly in better spirits as she watched her father and uncle walk all unknowing to their fate.

The house didn't retire until nearly midnight, and once it had, in the quiet, Sirius transformed to Salazar and met Em, as promised, in the garden shed. Grimmauld Place's garden was a vestigial stub of greenery that contained a token tree, a few sullen shrubs and a tiny shed.

She had enlarged the inside, and lay on a seed bag, munching a leftover fairy cake from tea. She sat up, brushing off crumbs from her robes, and went to embrace him.

'That jumper is hideous. Did you rob an Oxfam for it?'

'I'll have you know I paid for it. A whole quid.'

'And you've mastered muggle money as well?' She grinned and poked his ribs, which made him snort and slap her hand away gently.

'Those bears are horrible, though.'

'Aren't they? Snape didn't talk for fifteen minutes when he saw them. Just shook his head and muttered.'

She giggled and hugged him again. He hugged back, feeling himself reacting to her closeness. She slid a hand down and cupped him through his muggle trousers- seventy five p from a church rummage sale in Aberdeen- and kissed her, letting his tongue play in her mouth.

She responded, and they had a reunion right on the floor of the shed, one that was happy enough until the door opened and Rabastan Lestrange casually walked in and looked down at them, half dressed and holding their wands on him.

'If you two are intent on sneaking about, might I suggest you do a bit less openly? Those aurors could have seen you.' He lowered his brows and then chuckled, shaking his head.

'Lower your wands, would you?' They both did, and he embraced his wife, still chuckling. 'Gennie, sweetheart, I'm thrilled you've found someone.' Eugenia tugged down her skirts, blushing, ears red.

'I am too.'

'Excellent, excellent. Sirius, congratulations. She's a fine lady.'

'Thank you, I know.' The lovers stood, smoothing their hair (and Sirius adjusted his ludicrous bear jumper) and embraced his older cousin, who'd always been so kind and so dashing. And helped torture two of his friends to total insanity.

'Really, though, I insist you two be more discreet. It would have been embarrassing to us all had you been caught.'

'That's true, Rabastan. I'm sorry. We'll be more careful.'

He clapped her shoulder. 'Why don't you take the bedroom tonight? Rodolphus and I are going to spend a bit of time together.'

She nodded and patted him back, heading for the house. Rabastan looked at Sirius and smiled a bit.

'Sirius, I am so glad you and Eugenia have found one another. But if you should ever make her cry, or hurt her feelings, or behave callously toward her, I will have to discuss those things with you.'

Sirius laughed. 'I wager a husband has never stood in this shed and said that to his wife's lover, Rab.'

'That's true. I mean it, Sirius, be kind to her.'

'I will. Thanks for understanding.'

'What's not to understand? I'll speak to her about it at some point, of course, but overall, better you than someone outside the family.'

'Thanks for the vote of confidence, Rabastan.'

'You know precisely what I mean.'

'I do.'

Sirius found himself wanting to shake Rabastan by the shoulders and ask him. What could he have been thinking that night? Why did he agree to go? Why did any of them?

'Well, don't make me have to speak to you, Siri.'

Sirius hadn't been called that for years. He grinned, waggling his eyebrows. 'I've told Trixie I'm too big for that naughty chair now.'

'We could always enlarge it.' Rabastan patted his shoulder and then headed for the house beside him, so Sirius could go and make love to his wife.

Rabastan himself was philosophical, as he explained to his brother as they Obliviated the Snatcher who'd been sent to tail them and sent him to the Skull and Snake, believing his shift was over.

They walked about a bit, discussing Quidditich and other mundane topics and then ducked into a door way and Apparated to their destination. The ladies were there already, and Lucius.

The former Black sisters looked about their one-time home. No one had been in it since Druella had died years earlier. Elves had come earlier in the day to dust and air the place, but it smelt of disuse and the hopeless, cold smell of cleaner. It was a place dreams went to die.

The elves had swept the rooms thoroughly but the group fanned out anyhow, checking every nook and cranny. The whole house was clean in every sense, but the vaguely menacing air lingered. It felt like a house in comma, poised between one action and another.

Having satisfied themselves, the group came back together in the sitting room, facing two easels on which portraits cloaked in dust covers had been sat. Bellatrix gave an elf the nod and it whisked off the covers at once. Druella woke first, rubbing her eyes and squinting at the intruders.

'Finally come to see us, have you? It took you long enough.'

'Hello, Mother.'

'You're dressed like a strumpet, Narcissa. And that hairstyle doesn't suit you at all.'

'Bellatrix and Rodolphus are here, Mother.'

'I've got eyes, haven't I? I'm done with both of them. The way they embarrassed me, I can hardly tell you! I had to cancel my summer soiree, don't you remember?'

'They've a daughter, Mother. Your granddaughter Hermione.'

'Of course they haven't. Your sister is barren. Shame Andromeda wasn't.'

Narcissa tried again. 'Mother, we need your help. Your grandchildren need your help.'

'No.'

'What do you mean, no, Mother?'

'Just that. None of you ever tried to help me. Why should I reciprocate?'

As Bellatrix watched, Narcissa's already pale face lost another shade and her cheeks flushed. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, looking about as though for help. Bellatrix stood and started to walk over when she felt a masculine hand-Rodolphus or Rabastan, she assumed-gently fasten on her wrist to stop her. She permitted it. Just.

'Druella' said Malfoy 'surely you want to hear how Draco has been? Narcissa and mine's son?'

Mother's lips pursed. 'That would be fine.'

'Then do listen, won't you? It's his story too.' And the two of them, Cissy and her husband, told them everything as the group sat down. It took a little over two hours. The whole thing felt wrong to Bellatrix, to hear the crucibles of the past few years wrapped up so neatly and easily into a parcel.

Druella spoke when the story was done. 'You expect us to believe this, Narcissa? You're as mad as your sister.'

Bellatrix felt her heart creak a little. She hadn't thought it capable of such a thing any more, except perhaps where her daughter was concerned, and she noted it with a kind of detached interest. At least, she mused, it did not break. That would have looked very ill.

'It's true, Mother. Lucius and Rodolphus will swear to it.' Narcissa was still gamely trying to make this situation work. Bellatrix's heart creaked a little more loudly.

'Of course they will, they're foolish enough to believe your sister's delusions. I've always said that if Rodolphus would ever properly take her in hand rather than-'

Bellatrix had tried, she really had. She had wanted to be respectful and loving, and to introduce her daughter to her own mother so Hermione could know that side of the family. Now, having failed at that, she moved onto her second plan.

'YOU SHUT UP! WE DON'T HAVE TO TOLERATE THAT FROM YOU EVER AGAIN!'

Druella's mouth hung open in shock, and Cygnus, blinking, raised a hand for order as he had when the girls were small. Both of them instinctively obeyed, and he frowned sharply at his oldest.

'Trixie, there's no need to shout. You owe your mother an apology, please.'

'No, Daddy.'

'Bellatrix-'

'DON'T YOU START WITH ME! YOU KNEW PRECISELY WHAT SHE WAS DOING AND NEVER STOPPED IT!'

Cygnus held up his hand, swallowing hard, but Bellatrix was on a roll. She felt her husband pluck her wand from her hand and didn't even stop to consider it; Rodolphus had disarmed her before and would again. She threw back her shoulders and kept right on.

'YOU ALWAYS SAID THE FAMILY WAS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING! DON'T CISSY AND I COUNT? AND OUR CHILDREN? WHAT SORT OF PEOPLE ARE YOU?'

Rodolphus came up behind her and put his arms about her shoulders, murmuring comfortingly. She was breathing hard, covered in sweat, coughing because her voice was strained.

'Trixie, shh, shh, just breath. I'm here, shhh. Shhh.'

Druella laughed. Even to Bellatrix, it sounded very like her own laugh, and that added a layer of horror to a night that had had its share.

'You dare sit in judgement of us, Bellatrix, after all you've done? What kind of mother does what you did? Selling your daughter to a bunch of savages? Letting filthy muggles raise her? You've made her a freak.'

Rodolphus's arms tightened as Bellatrix fought him, cursing, straining against his hold. 'YOU LEAVE HERMIONE OUT OF THIS! SHE'S MORE THAN YOU DESERVE FOR A GRANDDAUGHTER!'

'She's a** freak**. Every bit as bad as you are.'

Rodolphus tightened his grip. 'That's enough! Shame on you, Cygnus, for sitting here and listening to this! Stand up for your daughters!'

'Druella, stop it. If you don't want to help, don't.'

'I'm only speaking the truth, Cygnus. It's hardly my fault Bellatrix can't stand to hear it.'

'YOU WANT THE TRUTH, YOU VICIOUS OLD MONSTER? I'M A HUNDRED TIMES THE MOTHER YOU EVER WERE AND EVERYONE KNOWS IT!'

'I find that doubtful indeed, Bellatrix.'

'Your perceptions' said Malfoy suddenly, startling Bellatrix to her core 'are not at issue here, Mother Black. If you don't wish to help us, we'll put your dust cloth back on.'

'You will not! I'll tell you when I'm done!'

'Darling' Rodolphus said very quietly in her ear 'there is nothing to be gained here for us. Why don't we go?'

Cygnus startled them all. 'There's no need. I would like to help you, even if my wife would not.' He had always had good hearing, Bellatrix thought as her heart creaked louder.

'Would you like to come with us, Father Black?'

'No, thank you. I am giving you this house to use on a single condition.'

'What is it, Daddy?' That from Narcissa, who was smiling at her father. All three girls had adored Cygnus, but Narcissa had got the least time with him, and Bellatrix could tell she was pleased to have him back, even in this form.

'Bring my grandchildren to see me. I would like to meet them. And Rabastan's son as well, if you wouldn't mind.'

'I'd be honoured, sir.'

'Very well, then. I shall see you soon, I hope?'

The group agreed at once. Rabastan departed first, followed fifteen minutes by Malfoy. All of them called their elves and ordered the elf to Apparate them directly back to Grimmauld Place.

Bellatrix finally squirmed free of her husband. 'I should like some time, Rodolphus.'

'Trixie, darling, is that a good idea?'

'Why don't you give my wand to Narcissa, if you're worried I'll do something rash?'

He did it, still looking reluctant, and let his elf take him twenty two minutes after Malfoy had left.

The former Black family, short a member, studied one another. Bellatrix felt cleansed, excited as she was always excited by conflict. She felt her heart beat speeding and slowing in rhythm, and her palms sweating a little.

'Well' said Druella finally 'at least tell me you've finally stopped running about with that slimy little Halfblood.'

'Snape.'

'Whatever his name was. Well, have you?'

Bellatrix stood exactly at eye height with the easels. She tilted her head and said nothing for a moment. 'There's no answer I can give you that will please you, Mother.'

'No' said Druella frankly.

'You've never liked me.'

'No.'

'I can live with that. But if you do it my daughter, or my sister, I'll arrange an accident for you, do you understand?'

'You wouldn't-'

'Why not?'

'Because I'm your mother.'

'Are you?'

'What does that mean?'

Bellatrix dropped her voice. 'I would never treat my daughter the way you treated us, nor Cissy her son. Who's the freak, Mother? Who's the freak?'

She turned on her heel and called her maid to take her. 'Cissy?'

'You go, Trixie. I want to spend a little time.'

'Don't be too long, all right?' She let her maid take her, feeling lighter and yet terribly sad.

As soon as Bellatrix got back to Grimmauld Place, she kicked off her shoes and went to find her daughter. Hermione was sitting in the small parlour with her husband and cousin.

'Hermione, a word?' Hermione rose with a word for the lads and followed her mother upstairs. Bellatrix ducked into the master bedroom and sat on the bed.

'Mother?'

'It's all right, Hermione. It's all right.' Hermione climbed up after her and sat with her head in her mother's lap. She looked up at Bellatrix, big eyes curious. Bellatrix couldn't say anything.

Finally, she touched her daughter's cheek. 'I love you and I would never hurt you. Do you know that?'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, Mother. I love you too.'

'I won't let her hurt you. I won't.'

Hermione's brow furrowed but she didn't ask. Instead, she reached up and touched her mother's cheek. 'I know, Mother.'

Rodolphus found them like that some time later, and said nothing, simply closing the door.

He found Malfoy sitting in a small parlour, sipping a glass of wine, and sat down next to him. 'Hello, Lucius.'

'Rodolphus. That was brutal.'

'Wasn't it?'

'Was it always like that?'

'No, it used to be worse.'

'For whatever it's worth, I thought you both handled that nicely.'

'Thank you.'

'Trixie and I don't get on, but...'

The men drank wine in silence and contemplated the next move in light of what had happened, and how strong a hold the past has on us, and the chains that bind us whether we would or no.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**NB: Good quality translation spells tend to be pretty literal, so if a character has a distinctive accent or uses a lot of idioms, the spells will render that into the closest equivalent. So when Scabior talks, for instance, his listeners are hearing whatever the equivalent of his accent is in their own language.**

**Also: Britnic, darlin', we talkied about the rule against giving Trixie anything flammable, sharp or-uh oh! Run, all of you!**

_**I thought it was a good idea, suggestion muggle. I shall take it under advisement at once. Come back, writing muggle, I've ever so many ideas to share with you now!-BBL**_

Penko Krum rose from his desk and sighed loudly to the otherwise vacant office. The Ministry felt very empty to him with Viktor and Hermione gone. The sunlight was streaming through the windows nicely, and he half wished he could take a flight, or perhaps wander about Sofia a bit and get one of those honey pastries he liked.

The door opened and Lady wandered in, bereft without her people. Where had her Pack gone, and why wasn't she there to protect them? She whined, and he scratched her ruff lightly, murmuring.

'I miss them too. Where's Rumen, girl?'

She snorted, perhaps to say she didn't know, and then circled the little rug in front of the fire, apparently deciding to nap in lieu of anything more interesting going on.

Penko rose and walked out to get some air on one of the open walkways, appreciating the smell of fresh leaves and warm stone. The damage had been more or less repaired since December, but lighter patches of stone told their own tale, and some small areas, at Viktor's insistence, had been left untouched, to show future generations where the fighting had been hottest.

Penko caught movement from the corner of his eye and spun, wand up, in time to see Scabior's own wand drop down. 'S'me, sir, is all.' Having ward setters come and spell the entire Ministry like Durmstrang had been expensive, but worth it, Penko judged, in that there was no need for translation charms now.

'Oh. Oh, right. Sorry. Come in.'

Lady wagged seeing the visitor. The dogs liked Scabior; he always had some little treat for them, a head scratch, a kind word. She trotted to his side and sat whilst the two men arranged themselves about the desk, one behind, one ahead.

'Success, Lemuel?'

'I shud say.' Scabior had, with great difficulty, been broken of bringing wet prizes. Now he brought drier, more useful things, and handed over a sheath of papers with the air of a schoolboy showing off a perfect mark.

Penko scanned them, able to read very little. 'I don't suppose you could...my written English is very poor.' They'd opted out of the written word package-it was expensive enough just to have the verbal translation wards.

Scabior took the papers back and looked them over. He frowned, cleared his throat and started to read.

'"Dear sir,

I am writin you t asks about the nature of yer ennn-terr-prize in Sofia, and whether an int'rested par'y of ob-serv-ers could be sent by us in order t ass-er-tain the ezact nature of your dealins, and ow we might works together in order t further our mu-tu-l aims.

I remains, sir, your umble servant

Ted Tonks'

Scabior set down the letter. 'Well, there we aves it then. They're plannin to moves on us.'

'Eventually. We've always known they would.'

'Id'its, I calls em. Jus leaves well enough alone, dont you thinks, sir?'

Penko nodded English-style. 'Just as well Lestrange sent you after him, isn't it?'

Scabior rose, adjusting his clothing. 'Sorry I couldn't a gots it to you earlier, but people wuz watchin'. Dont want the missus to start wonderin, if you catch me drift.'

'Of course. And your wife is well?'

'She is. Misses the Vicereine, but it cant be elped.'

'No. You yourself are well?'

'I am. Doin a neat trick with them businesses, and the others.' He gestured lazily toward the papers and smiled conspiratorially. 'Goin t takes Alise on oliday this year an all.'

'Just be careful, would you? You're too valuable to lose.'

'Thank you, sir. Any word from ome?'

Penko realised he meant Britain and not Castle Krum. 'My nephew sent me a brief note. He says the snake went over like halva-went over well-and everyone is doing splendidly.'

'Ah, gud, glad to ears it. Jus you lets me know if you needs anythin done. I'm always about.' Scabior glided out, quiet as air.

Penko sometimes wondered what sort of monster Lestrange had bequeathed his nephew. Then again, the fellow's work couldn't be argued with, and he had a sort of strange charm that made him almost disquietingly likable. Until one's usefulness to him ended, of course...Penko shivered a little and rose to close the door behind Scabior for no real reason.

Scabior himself was quietly sliding down corridors and through doorways, eyes sharp. He caught sight of Paavo Kask and Enver Vata, bent in consultation in a corridor, and gave them a wave and a grin; if he knew those two, they were debating which brothel to visit that night. Young men, he thought sentimentally, and their follies.

Alise was in their little flat, instructing an elf in Bulgarian. The elf bowed and took off and she put her palms to the small of her back and stretched, yawning. She was often tired at midday, and sometimes napped a bit, which struck him as quite a good idea at the moment.

'Ello, luv. Ow's doins?'

She smiled. 'Not badly. I have send elf to see to dinner. Vhat did you vant, the lamb?' The private quarters were not warded in order that everyone could use their second languages more frequently.

'Be mighty nice. You still tired?'

'Little bit. Valked all through inner compound today.'

'Why'd you do that, then?'

'Vhy not? Needed sunshine. And Pip vant a valk.' Pip was the budgie Alise had adopted when he proved too much of a temptation for Crookshanks to stay in Flower's chambers. Some envoy had sent the little fellow as a gift.

'Was e a gud boy?'

'Alvays. Chirrup and flap for girls. Like vomen, Pip does.' The budgie, apparently conscious he was being discussed, raised his head and trilled, fluffing his feathers.

'When my Chum comes back, we ave to makes sure e dont eat none a Pip's seed. E's a fat lil bloke, Chum is.'

'You feed him sveets, is vhy.'

'Not just me. The girls loved im. Snape loves im too, I thinks.'

Alise shook her head, hair bouncing. 'Snape is strange.'

'Never said as e wuzn't. Jus e as the gud sense t knows a fine rat when e sees one.'

She nodded, face distant. Scabior went and cupped her cheek lightly. 'Sumthin the matter?'

'I vould like to go and see Baba soon. She is lonely.'

'All rite, darlin'. Alise?'

'Yes?'

'If you wuzn't appy, you'd say, yeah?'

She nodded. 'I vould say.'

Scabior wondered, he really did. He bent closer and pecked her cheek. 'Truth now, luv?'

Alise sighed. 'Scabior, I vould like you to teach me.'

'Teach you what, sweet'eart?'

'Vhat you know.'

He couldn't have been more startled if she'd asked him to wear her clothes or something. 'What d'you mean?'

'Magic. Defence. I know you are good at it.

Scabior was, that was true. His defence was not the graceful brutality of Lestrange's wife or the straightforward lessons the girl had learnt in school. If those things were duels between the quality, Scabior's was a brawl in a cheap pub.

Was that bad, though? Scabior liked his little wife, and wanted, as the Dark Lord sometimes said, to protect her from the filth of the world outside the confines of their home. But might it not be too late? Scabior was not prone to self-deception, and admitted freely that the thought of teaching her excited him a little.

On the other hand, there were proprieties. 'You promise t be careful with it?'

'Yes.'

'An not do too much?'

'Yes.'

'Awrite.' He would teach her everything he knew, except the wet work. He wanted her as far away from that as possible. There was a line. And anyway, she had no need of that sort of thing, not with him there.

Alise seemed to brighten. 'Good.'

'Darlin'? Why you wants t learn? Jus curious, I am.' He stroked her cheekbone with the ball of his thumb.

'Maybe ve fight again. I vant to know more next time.'

'You done gud all on yer own.'

'No, I vas lucky. Now I vant to be skilled.'

Scabior nodded slowly. Good girl, to know the difference. He didn't know the word 'bonding' as such, but he understood instinctively that was what she was proposing. And it would, he suspected, be fun.

'Tonight?'

'Tonight.' And that was that.

Thousands of miles away, another twosome was also subtly re-working their marriage, but in a totally different way. Rabastan leant down and kissed the top of his wife's head lightly.

'You're very sure, Eugenia?'

'I am.'

'I am not.' He stepped back, shoulders straight, head high. 'Would that I could convince you not to do this.'

'It will be fine, Rab, I promise.'

'If anything should happen, Portkey.'

'I know.' He'd given her a pretty bracelet, which was one of Malfoy's Portkeys. It would take her to Castle Krum...leaving the rest of them stranded in hostile territory. She couldn't use it and they both knew that. Snape, too, had given her something-a phial of poison to bite down on should she be taken alive.

Eugenia kissed Edric on the cheek. 'I love you, Edric. Mummy loves you.' He crowed and started to sniffle when she failed to take him in her arms. Instead, she donned her light cloak and took Mippy's other hand. The three-Eugenia, Mippy and Sirius-were gone in a flash.

At the former Black House, they changed into muggle dress. Eugenia had never worn muggle clothes, but Emmeline had, and her fingers remembered the snap of a bra and the careful finger about the waistband of a pair of knickers to keep the elastic from digging in.

Clad in a sundress and sandals, Eugenia felt nude. Emmeline had liked to go to the sea shore and parade about in a two piece bathing costume, she remembered with a rueful smile, but Eugenia wore layers of linen and cotton and silk to keep her body hidden from anyone but her husband.

She let Mippy comb out her elaborately styled hair and braid it, but that was all. Snape had even though to buy some muggle cosmetics for her (not in her colours, but one can't have it all), and so she found a nearly sensual pleasure in rubbing on a touch of eye shadow and mascara, a little rouge, some lipstick, and, to her surprised delight, perfume.

Sirius's eyes nearly fell out of his head when he saw her. 'Em-Gennie-you look-' He kissed her, smearing her lipstick a little, and then stepped back, grinning. He had donned a muggle t-shirt and trousers, but his hair still hung, long and curly, to his shoulders.

'Sirius, your hair.' She gently stroked a little and he nodded approvingly.

'Yes, darling, it is.'

'No, it needs to be cut.'

'What? Snape never said-'

'Snape isn't trying to pass, and not casually. We need to look like actual muggles up close.'

He frowned. 'I see muggle men with long hair.'

'How often?'

'Sometimes.'

'Sirius, how often?'

'Not all that. Fine, fine.' He sat down, clearly sulking, and Eugenia suppressed a snort. Sirius Black, the spy, sex symbol of Gryffindor, was all but pouting openly. She turned to Mippy.

'Scissors, Mippy, and a towel?'

'Not too short, love?'

'Not too short.'

She was as good as her word. She had sometimes cut John's hair for him, and she did for Sirius as she had her fiancé, making sure it was nice and even and the back was well shaved.

Unfortunately, she hadn't accounted for Sirius's naturally curly hair, and the end result had to be cut a good deal shorter, because the length had kept the curl manageable. At the end, she sent Mippy to get some pomade, and slicked down whatever was left.

'It's really very...modern.'

'It still looks all right, doesn't it?'

'It's interesting.'

'That's really not very comforting.'

'You'll learn to love it.'

He stood up and went to the bathroom to check the mirror. When he came back, he had a look she'd never seen on his face.

'Sirius-'

'No.'

'I didn't-'

'No.'

She reached up and smoothed a spike of strangely clipped hair. 'I'm sorry.'

Sirius glowered fiercely, and then, to her relief, dropped his shoulders and started to laugh.

The shopkeeper thought very little of the couple who came in at four that afternoon, just about an hour before she was set to close. The woman was delicate and pretty, and the man, with his close cropped black hair and pale skin, was quite a striking sight.

'May I help you, sir? Madam?'

'Yes, thank you. We're looking for a certain sort of diary.' The woman, who did all the talking, explained about a certain journal kept by her grandfather in the thirties. Granddad was old now, but they wanted so much to get him another volume so he might write his memoirs.

Could she help them? Was there perhaps old stock someplace? Money was not an object, definitely, and it would mean so much to dear Granddad. The shopkeeper considered, frowning.

'Actually, this is my mother in law's shop. Her father ran the place then. Let me go home and ask him, Mrs.-'

'Smythe. Emma Smythe.'

'And I'm John' said the man, extending a hand. He certainly had beautiful eyes, thought the shopkeeper, not without a tinge of regret.

'Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Smythe. Let me ask Barb and I'll see what I can do.'

'We would so appreciate it if you did.'

The shopkeeper was a good as her word, and when they returned the next day, she handed over a black leather bound diary, the pages gently yellowed by age. It looked right. It smelt right. It would have to serve.

They paid 9 pounds sixty for it. The man slipped it into a pocket of his light jacket (it was such a cold, wet spring) and the two took themselves away, joking and laughing good naturedly. The shopkeeper forgot the encounter before they'd fallen out of sight.

Severus Snape wasn't sure how he felt about the dog and Vance spending the night together in the old Black house, but he supposed it would have looked more strange for him to object than to go along.

Still, he felt a twinge of relief as he saw the manky cur appear in the parlour of Grimmauld Place, with Vance beside him. They'd changed back into Wizarding dress, but the dog's hair had been cut very short and the woman had strange cosmetics on her face.

'Did you get it?'

Black handed over the parcel. Snape opened it. It was an almost exact double, even the stamp was in the correct place. Snape nodded once and put the diary aside. Inside he was jubilant; this would make things easier.

Wouldn't it? Snape supposed the thing might well not be a good enough fake, even after he'd had false Mulciber enchant it to match the other one. For one, no one was exactly sure what the first diary did, and couldn't risk finding out.

For another, the Dark Lord had a canny nose for trickery. Suppose the thing felt off to him? Short of creating a second Horcrux, there was nothing for it. Unless...what could be done to cover their tracks?

He put his aurors to puzzling it out even as Horace Slughorn arrived officially to meet the Lord Protector and Vicereine.

They received him at the Ministry, in front of a few flashing cameras. Rita Skeeter, looking positively ill, was one of the few reporters present. She was dressed in sober black, face corpse pale under her rouge.

Metellus Travers was the liason from the Dark Lord, and he made so bold as he touch the Skeeter woman's waist, making it clear whom she was with. It lent things an awkward, vulgar note Snape might have done without.

There was the usual speechifying, and then Slughorn, got up in a new suit and a tall top hat, was handed over to the Bulgarians to teach English and "Improve understanding between our two great peoples".

Snape could feel Slughorn's eyes on him. He ignored it until, back at Grimmauld Place, the man cornered him. Slughorn was visibly nervous, licking his lips. Snape felt a winkle of pleasure, as dark and nourishing as wine.

'You know, Snape, I have often thought I wronged you when you were young.'

'Oh? How's that, Professor?'

'I ought to have seen you were destined to greatness.'

'That's interesting.'

'Yes, I-I imagine you must have wondered why I didn't do more about those boys. Potter and Black and, ah, the quiet one. And that twitchy little fellow that hung about them.'

'Lupin and Pettigrew.'

'Quite, quite. I imagine you must wonder why I never stepped in.'

Snape shrugged. 'It is the past, Horace.'

Slughorn's shoulders slumped with relief. 'Yes, yes, of course. Of course.'

'And I never supposed Potter and Black's names had anything to do with it.'

'No' agreed Slughorn at once 'never.' His breathing was faster now. Snape knew he had the fellow right where he wanted him.

'The Dark Lord has given me a special charge for you, Professor. Will you accept it?'

'Of course. I only want to please Him, Snape, you know.'

'I of all people know.' Snape had the brief mental image of a rabbit, hopping willingly to the snare, as he led the man into the parlour and started the work which would move them closer to their goal.

Bellatrix was doing much the same. She held her daughter's head in her hands and gently pushed with her mind, trying to root out a memory. Hermione in turn pushed back, startlingly hard, and envisioned a closed door, precisely as her mother had told her to.

Bellatrix pushed a bit harder, careful not to overwhelm her or make it hurt. Hermione pushed back, tentatively trying to find an entrance into her mother's mind. Bellatrix, startled, laughed, making sure her mind was tight as she could make it to prevent Hermione's finding something that would upset her.

'Well done, Hermione! I knew you'd be good at this!'

Hermione glowed under the praise, cheeks rosy. She touched her forehead, which meant she likely had a raging headache. It was an occupational hazard her mother recalled all too well.

'Girl, does your head hurt?'

'Yes, Mother.'

'Well, take something for it. It will only get worse.'

Hermione accepted the phial from Rinky and downed it at once. She smiled again as the muscles relaxed. 'Who taught you to do this, Mother?'

'The Dark Lord. He taught Snape and I both.'

'At the same time?'

'No. He taught me earlier, and I helped with Snape's lessons.'

Hermione leant toward her and rested her head on Bellatrix's shoulder. Bellatrix stroked her back, feeling her daughter's heartbeat under her palm. Hermione seemed content just to rest, so Bellatrix let her, a moment, and then opened her mouth.

She meant to ask about the headache but something else came out. 'Hermione, do you want to go and meet your grandfather Black?'

'Isn't he, err...?'

'Yes, but we've a portrait now. I know he'd like to meet you very much.'

Hermione slowly brought her head up. 'Will you come too?'

'Cissy and I. Your grandmother will also be there.' Bellatrix tried to sound neutral about that and failed.

'You and she didn't get along.' There was no question in Hermione's voice. Either Narcissa had said something or the girl had guessed. Bellatrix thought a denial would be pointless.

'Death hasn't improved her temperament, but if she starts, we'll simply leave. Daddy can always come here, after all.'

'Tell me about him, Mother?'

Bellatrix felt a surge of conflicted, not altogether favourable feelings. 'Meet him first, Hermione. I imagine there's loads he'll want to tell you himself.'

Snapdragon Circle was quiet before the first elf popped in, depositing Narcissa and Draco. The others came slowly over the course of the next hour, until the whole family was there, even Sirius and Eugenia.

Narcissa's heart was pounding. She wanted so badly for this to work that she could taste her own fear, metallic and harsh, like the smell of a cheap copper bracelet which had got wet. She swallowed it, and her nervousness, and smiled at her son.

'Darling, would you like to see my room when I was a girl?'

'Yes, Mother.' Draco looked a shade paler than usual but very much alert. She led him up the stairs and gave him the grand tour. The dust cloths had been pulled off all the furniture but all of it still had a sad, abandoned air.

Narcissa's old room was a small, baby pink den, with white ruffled curtains and a matching rug on the floor. The bedspread was figured satin, and a line of stuffed animals decorated it.

'It's very…ruffly, Mother.'

Narcissa laughed, giving her son's hair a ruffle. 'I was six when I chose the decor, Draco.'

'We all make mistakes.' His eyes were gleaming with devilry, and his mother rolled her own, pointedly ignoring him as she picked up things which had belonged to her as a girl.

'Mother?'

She opened a treasure box and found a faded hair ribbon and a few other trinkets from friends who were now respected matrons. 'Yes, love?'

He shook his head, suddenly seeming to shy to say it. Narcissa leant over and patted his back. 'It's all right.'

'We're lucky our family is happy, is all.'

'Aren't we?' She heard Bellatrix's voice downstairs and they turned together and went to meet the rest of the family.

Narcissa felt that same burst of fear when the portraits were brought in, but stronger, and harder to rid herself of. She made herself smile, careful to watch her sister as Bellatrix looked at the pictures.

'Who's this, then? Narcissa?'

'Mother' said Bellatrix in that dangerously serene voice 'this is my daughter, Hermione.'

Hermione stepped forward and bobbed politely. 'Hello, Grandmama.'

Mother stared coldly at her. 'Narcissa? Didn't I tell your sister I was not interested in meeting her…child?'

Narcissa's mouth filled with hot bile. So much for a happy meeting. Hermione, to her credit, didn't flinch. She smiled more widely.

'I didn't mean to bother you, Grandmama. I'm actually here to see Grandpapa.'

'Oh? You think you're too good to talk to me, do you?'

'I wouldn't dream of imposing.'

'Rightly so. Your mother's been a misery to me since the day she was born, and you're no doubt the same.'

Narcissa felt her gorge rise slightly, appalled at what she was hearing. Bellatrix's fists were knotted, but Hermione swiftly took her hand.

'Then I shan't trouble you any more. Should you prefer to be in another room?' Hermione turned away, looking politely bored, raising her hand to motion to an elf in a way that was totally un-Hermione like but struck precisely the right note.

'I should not! I'll stay right here, thank you! Cygnus, talk to this child!'

Narcissa gently pushed Draco's shoulder. 'Go and see your Grandmama, Draco.' Draco nodded, adam's apple bobbing. Narcissa darted her eyes to her sister and saw a strange thing; Bellatrix's face was working as though she was trying not to weep.

Or laugh. Bellatrix was trying not to laugh. Narcissa swiftly made her way over and tugged her hand from Hermione's.

'Bellatrix, I need help in the, err, kitchen. Right now.' She half dragged her and then slammed the door behind them. Bellatrix's face was still twitching and moving, and finally she raised her eyes to her sister's.

'That's one way to deal with Mother!'

The two Black sisters held one another and laughed in the kitchen for a good five minutes, until they'd finally recovered enough to go back out. Cleaning one another's faces of eye makeup, they walked sedately back into the sitting room and took up their places again.

Viktor had opted not to go on the trip to meet his in-laws portraits. He would before they left Britain, to be sure, for all he found the talking portraits disturbing and a little creepy.

Rather, at the moment he was sitting in the library with Snape and Anu. Anu had had his first lesson with Slughorn, and Snape was carefully feeling about verbally, testing the ground. Had the old man behaved himself?

'_*He's quite an odd man, Professor. Very…friendly.*_' Anu said it in the tone someone else might reserve for trying to polite imply that a third party is foul smelling, or has disagreeable habits.

_'*Friendly how, Tamm?*'_

_'*He asked me a lot of questions.*'_

_'*Did it make you uncomfortable in some way?*'_

Anu hesitated before he spoke. '_*Well, no, I suppose not. But it was strange all the same.*'_

_'*Keep watching him, won't you? And if he should…*'_ Snape was prompting.

_'*Make me feel uncomfortable or unsafe, I'm to go and find an adult straight away.*'_

_'*Exactly so.*'_

Anu had been well versed, and seemed totally undisturbed by his role in all this. Viktor leant closer.

_'*Anu, do you understand why?*'_

The younger lad nodded. '_*Some people aren't all right with children. Uncle Rab told me.*'_

_'*What did he say?*'_

_'*Bad people take advantage of children because they're predators.*'_

_'*Yes, that's right.*'_

_'*Viktor? If Professor Slughorn is a bad man, why do you want him to come home with us?*'_

'*_It's complicated, Anu. I don't want to endanger you by telling you too much.*'_

Anu pursed his lips solemnly. _'*Do the others know?*'_

_'*Yes, Anu.*'_

_'*All right, then.*_' Having been reassured that everyone else was in the know, Anu subsided a bit, clearly thinking. Viktor heard the soft scraping of an owl's talons on the window a second before Kreacher appeared and let the bird in.

_'*Master, a message from Feathering.*'_

Viktor's stomach clenched but he took the parchment and nodded for Kreacher to give the owl a treat. The owl hooted and lit on Viktor's chair, clearing fishing for a scratch. Viktor gently patted the thing's crested head for a moment and slit the seal.

_'*We're invited to lunch tomorrow. I'll see whether Hermione wants to go.*'_

He stood up and excused himself as Snape started going over Anu's lesson with him, relieved for a little privacy with his thoughts.

He was not alone for long. He wandered upstairs and bumped, almost literally, into Barty. The man was coming from the room he was sharing with Anu, Sirius-Salazar and Draco himself, eyes bright.

He stopped, frowning, when he saw Viktor. 'Is something wrong, Viktor?'

'No. No, I am all vright.'

'Are you telling me the truth?'

Viktor blinked, startled that he felt a sharp little poke in his mind at the question. Hadn't he scolded Anu for lying to them about his health? Simple or not, Barty was his elder and deserved his respect. He raised his head, flushed a bit.

'I am sorry, Barty. I suppose I vasn't.'

'That's not like you. What's wrong?'

'I don't know how I feel about seeing my father tomorrow.'

'Oh. I understand. I didn't get on with mine, you know.' Barty's face was subtly different, older and less mobile. It was like seeing the ghost of who Barty would have been.

'I did not know that.'

Barty nodded. 'It's hard, isn't it?'

'Yes. It is very hard.'

'Do you want me to go with you tomorrow? I'll keep you company.' Barty looked totally serious, and Viktor tried to find a response to that wouldn't hurt the man's feelings.

'I think it vill be just Herm-on-nee-knee and me, Barty. Father and I need to talk.'

'Oh. All right. If you don't want to be alone tonight, I'll be about.' Abruptly, he leant over and gave Viktor a hug, then turned on his heel and went to pursue his ends, humming to himself.

Viktor watched him go. What had just happened here? He went to the bedroom and laid on the bed, trying to figure out what to do.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**NB: Cunegarde makes some pretty nasty remarks this chapter. So we're all clear on this, she absolutely doesn't represent my views.**

**As all of you are no doubt aware, cats have a special place in my heart. It was with greatest sadness I learnt that Smokey, CB's beloved grey cat, departed this life three days ago at the age of twenty. She will be much missed. This chapter is dedicated with love to her.**

**Wishing you all a peaceful holiday season and a happy New Year,**

**Madea**

Barty was giggling. Rabastan Lestrange put down the Prophet and rose slowly from his chair, head cocked. It was definitely Barty and he was definitely laughing. That could

mean loads of things, many of them no good, and Rabastan, guessing he should go and see, following the sounds of the laughter.

Barty was sitting on the stairs, grinning, eyes bright with mischief. Rabastan had never fancied Barty when he was sane, but he'd always thought him handsome in a well

scrubbed, schoolboyish way that appealed to Rabastan not at all.

Now, laughing, he had that same aspect. Rabastan sat down next to him and raised a brow. 'Barty, what in the world is so funny to you?'

Barty grinned, wiping his eyes. 'You know I offered to go with Viktor to talk to Martin?'

'Did you?'

'Yes, of course.' Barty dropped his voice to that loud stage whisper he thought to be subtle.

'His feelings are very hurt right now. We need to give he and Hermione both our support.'

Rabastan's throat felt thick for a second. Barty had always had a great big heart, and his mental diminishment had not ended that, even if it was in a simpler form.

'Of course. What did he say?'

'He said he thought it would just be himself and Hermione. But Madam Cunegarde found out and she's insisting on going.'

'Oh?' Rabastan didn't see the humour, until Barty grabbed his arm and said urgently 'Viktor thinks he can talk her out of it!'

Rabastan snorted. 'Good luck to him.'

'I tried to warn him. He said he could handle it. And then-'

Rabastan heard Cunegarde's strident voice from her room, even with the door closed. 'I've said I will accompany you, and that is that!'

And Viktor, sounding glumly resigned. 'Yes, Aunt.'

Rabastan covered his mouth and laughed with Barty. Viktor might be Lord Protector of Bulgaria, but Cunegarde was Cunegarde, and that counted for something.

Upstairs, Cunegarde Lestrange Wilkes Mulciber Lestrange reached out with a bony little claw and seized the boy's sleeve. Such a tall young man, she thought grumpily, as though he'd been tall to spite her.

'Listen to me, boy. It's the best way.'

'Best vay?' He knelt down so they were eye to eye. She liked that better, but not much. Cunegarde sniffed sharply and bored into him with her eyes, a look she knew to be most effective.

'I've never liked foreigners, you know. Smelly and sly, most of them. You haven't an odour, at least, that's something in your favour.'

'Thank you, Aunt.'

'Don't talk until I've finished! What you need, boy, is the second. You lack cunning. I am prepared to help you. They'll be watching you, don't you see?'

'You mean spies.'

'I do. You need to handle this exactly right or they'll find a way to use it against you. I will help you. I can distract them.'

The boy nodded slowly. 'I see now. Yes, that vould be most helpful.'

'Well, you're married to my great great niece, foreigner or no. Now get yourself up in high style—in fact, I'll send my own elf to help you both. Will Draven be going?'

'Drago, Aunt.'

'The blond boy. He's going as well?'

'No, he is going to spend time vith his father today, I think.'

'I suppose it never occurred to either of them they might have been of more use distracting those idiot aurors? Typical. What are you waiting for, go?' She waved her hand at him and dismissal, and he turned on his heel, bowing, and left. The girl had him well trained, Cunegarde would give her that.

Viktor did as the old woman ordered. He donned his best summer robes and a tunic of the best linen, with boots shined to mirror gloss and his hair combed and pomaded, his chain of office gleaming.

Hermione, too, looked dressed to kill. Cunegarde had opened her own jewellery box, and Viktor's wife twinkled when she moved, a vision so beautiful it was almost frightening.

'Are you all right?'

'No. I am going to take a potion. Vould you like one?'

She shook her head, and so he swallowed the single phial the elf had brought and then let his valet fasten the clasps of his cloak—his father in law's clasps, his engagement gifts from a million years before—and the two of them, with Cunegarde floating behind in her wheeled chair, got in the carriage.

Cunegarde was toting Edric as well. Erasmus simply adored the baby (who didn't?) and his presence would help allay suspicion—who brings me infant to plot treachery? The baby, in his best linen gown and cap, was bright eyed, curious. Zdratza floated behind, toting a discreet sack of nappies and bottles.

Even with the potion, Viktor's hands were shaking. His throat was dry and tight, and he found he was having some small difficulty in taking a full breath. Hermione's hand slid into his even as she chatted with her aunt and spoke gently to the elves who had come to escort them.

Aurors, too. Aunt Cunegarde had been right about that. Twenty flew alongside the carriage, flanking them. How many of them, wondered Viktor, were wearing listening wires in their clothes?

It wasn't like it mattered. Aunt Cunegarde was loudly holding forth, complaining about any and everything no matter what it was. Viktor finally realized she was trying to give them a cover and he bent to press his mouth to the shell of his wife's ear.

'_I'm going to try to get Father to talk to me. Follow Aunt's lead, would you?'_

She nodded, snuggling into him for a second and then straightening. 'And how is Uncle Erasmus, Aunt Cunegarde?'

'Erasmus is as well as ever. He's very keen on ninepins, you know. When we were children, we used to…' The carriage touched down and an elf opened the door, bowing. The Lord Protector rose, squaring his shoulders, and helped the Vicereine from the carriage.

The tiny household of Feathering had come to greet them. Father and Grandmama and Uncle Erasmus, who was wearing an ancient wizard's hat with moonstones on it and robes of moth eaten blue velvet.

'_*Welcome, nephew….er…nephew. Welcome to my home. We are honoured that you've, er, come. And…what is it you do again? A Quidditch player, is that right?*'_

'_*Yes, Uncle, amongst other things.*'_

'_*Of course you are. And your wife, Cunegarde's niece. It's good to see you, too, dear.*'_

'_*Erasmus*'_ trumpeted Cunegarde, hands round her mouth _'*this is the Lord Protector of Bulgaria and his wife, the Vicereine, remember?*'_

'_*Oh, that's right! You honour my humble home and, ah, so forth. You're Rodolphus Lestrange's daughter and son in law, is that right?*'_

Hermione beamed at the old man. _'*Yes, Uncle. Thank you for having us.*'_

'_*…Yes…*'_ Erasmus subsided abruptly, clearly baffled but trying his hardest. He reminded Viktor of an older Barty, and because of that, Viktor leant down and patted the old man's hand.

'_*We've brought gifts, sir. Shall we have them brought inside?*'_

Erasmus smiled. _'*You are too kind, Mr…lad. Too kind.*'_ He nodded to the elves, who brought in the crate of homemade cheeses and cured meats.

Viktor wished Father would say something. Anything. Look at him. Beside him, Hermione was very close, smelling of perfume, but only for a moment. She went to greet Grandmama, who was weeping silently, perhaps with joy to see them both alive.

Father had not moved. Viktor felt the old woman's hand on his own, not holding but digging in. 'Go on!'

I am the Lord Protector of Bulgaria, and I am not afraid, he told himself sternly. I cannot be afraid. He looked to his wife, who was hugging his grandmother, and moved forward, head high. I am the Lord Protector. Why can't I fix this?

His father finally moved. '_Lordship, your visit does us honour_.' He bowed and Viktor averted his eyes, trying not to see any more of this than he had to.

'_The honour is mine, sir. Please, may we move inside? The sun is too bright for the ladies out here.'_

Inside was dusty and cold, even in summer. Elves as ancient as their master hovered awkwardly, torn between the joy of having people to serve and the sheer bizarre nature of the visit.

Erasmus seemed to have perked up a bit. 'Lordship, we are honoured you have visited our humble home. Be welcome here.' Having remembered his speech, he subsided again, clearly trying to find something to say.

Cunegarde gave Viktor a look of wily malice, which he understood at once. He trusted her, and gave her a single nod, which he disguised as cracking his neck.

Cunegarde waved at an elf. 'You there, Nerry, put some music on. My niece has never heard the Arthuriad in the old form. Hurry, fool!'

Music was blasting from the phonograph. Viktor liked British style music, but he understood it to be a cover. He sat up straighter and nodded to the old woman.

'_*Most interesting, Aunt. Is it very old?*'_

_*'Oh, yes, quite. Back when I was young, everyone of quality was familiar with this composer. He's a relative of your wife and I's, you know. Menelaus Wilkes, this was.*'_

Viktor nodded as though enthralled. The old woman prattled on for some minutes until she said abruptly '_*Is that a mouse?*'_

Viktor recognized it as an opening. _'*I saw it too. Hermione, love, would you mind if I should go and look for it?*'_

Hermione immediately agreed. _'*It could bite Edric if we don't find it.*' _The aurors who'd followed them into the atrium looked about, seemingly prepared to say something when the elves set up a hew and cry, wailing about mice and their failures and poor delicate Master Edric, who giggled and walked proudly across the carpet to clutch Grandmama's knee, hooting with delight.

'_*Father, help me?*'_

'_*Yes. Yes, of course.*'_

Father moved so slowly these days, like an old man. He walked painfully toward the stairs, the elves banging and shrieking and acting mad. Viktor realized this too was planned, and felt his respect for the old woman get even higher. She was crafty as an elf, he thought admiringly, and wondered how to thank her for this.

Father was silent, looking about the baseboards, head moving in agonizingly slow arcs. Viktor wanted to scream. He wanted to demand an answer, or accuse his father of…something, anything.

He felt a tiny hand tap him. It was Nerry. 'Masters is following'. The elves lipless mouth barely moved, and Viktor nodded English style and came after, trusting his father would follow.

The elf brought them to a room very like all the others Viktor had seen, dusty but probably grand once. Like his aunt Lyudmilla, Viktor found the houses here cold and unwelcoming, but Feathering was a bit better than the others, he thought, being smaller and more cozily decorated.

The elf bent to his ear. 'This room is having anti-listening charms. Is safe here. Nerry is staying, and others.' A small detachment of elves had appeared and spread out, making sure no one was listening whilst they spoke.

Viktor realized he didn't know what to say. _'Father…?'_

'_Hello, Viktor_.' Father was staring blankly ahead of himself. Viktor took a deep, long breath.

'_We need to talk about this, Father.'_

'_Yes. Yes, we need to talk. Did you go and visit your mother like I asked?'_

'_Every Sunday, Father.'_

'_Good. She'll like that.'_

'_I'm married now, Father.'_

'_To Hermione, yes.'_ Father nodded distantly. _'Was it a very nice wedding?'_

'_No. We married during the siege. Thousands of werewolves were waiting to kill us.'_

'_Did you bring the crowns back to the vault, Viktor?'_

'_We didn't use them, Father. Werewolves, remember?'_

'_Oh, yes. Shame. Your grandparents would have wanted you to use them.'_

Viktor could stand no more. '_That's not the worst thing that happened, Father. We should talk about that. That's what's important right now.'_

'_There's no point, Viktor. It's done now.'_

'_No, it isn't.'_

'_No?'_ Martin lowered himself slowly into a chair and looked at Viktor with big, dazed eyes. Viktor sat down as well, feeling his fingernails dig into his palms.

'_It won't ever be over, not until we sort some of this out.'_

Martin shook his head mournfully_. 'If your mother was here…'_

'_She's not. You are. I am. I'd like some answers.'_

'_Viktor, be respectful. Your mother wouldn't-'_

'_Papa, are you willing to talk to me, or not?'_

Father nodded slowly. _'Yes. Yes, but Viktor, don't you see…?'_

'_See what, Papa?'_

Martin shook his head again. _'Things fell apart.'_

'_Fell apart? What does that mean?'_ Viktor could hardly bring himself to form the words. His lips were numb as though he'd been swimming in winter, and his hands were clenching into fists, taking great big gulps of air as subtly as possible.

'_Your mother-'_

'_She's DEAD, Papa. Mama is dead and has been for years! I'm not dead and neither is Hermione. Who needed your help more_?'

'_It wasn't like that. It was…complicated, Viktor, you wouldn't understand.'_

'_What is there to understand? You abandoned Hermione and I to do the hard work.'_

Martin was shaking his slowly. '_Viktor, my son, my son.'_

'_Papa, do you have any idea how many of my friends died helping us? I spent Christmas writing letters to their families, telling them how they died.'_

'_It's unfortunate, yes, but-'_

The room was swimming in and out of focus. Viktor felt very, very calm. _'Do you know the difference between you and them, Papa? THEY FUCKING CAME AND GOT THEIR CHILDREN!'_

Martin was totally still and silent. Viktor found that he wasn't even angry. He was tired, and hurt, and confused, but the anger had slowly dried out, leaving him with a core of hard, cold grief instead.

Still, the shouting had helped. He slumped in his chair, shaking, sweat damp on his back. Why wouldn't Father say something? Anything? Was he just that far gone? Viktor lowered his head, blinking tears, breathing hard.

'_There's no need to shout, Viktor.'_

Viktor was still breathing hard, trying to be calm. He could feel the elves moving silently about them, making sure no one interrupted their talk. He rather wished they would; anything would be better than this.

'_What would you have me do, then?'_

Martin spread his hands. '_I don't know.'_

'_That's the problem, Papa. You left me to clean up the mess and now you want it to be like it was before and it can't ever be again.'_

'_No, no. It's not like that.'_

'_Then what is it like?'_

Martin's eyes were glazed. He looked ancient, almost dead already. Viktor felt a seething pity that made him feel worse. Why should he feel badly for his father? Martin had made his choice, and so had Viktor.

'_Would that I knew. You are a stranger now.'_

'_Whose fault is that?'_

'_This is not a matter of fault.'_

'_Like hell it isn't. You're even more of a coward than I thought.'_

'_Viktor…'_

'_Stay here and hide, I don't care. We don't need you_.'

He turned round and walked out. He'd thought he'd feel a relief, make some kind of breakthrough, but he hadn't. He felt cheap and tired and used. He silently walked down the stairs and rejoined the others in the parlour, face set.

Cunegarde could tell at once what had happened, or some iteration of it. She nodded slowly and gave the boy a look. Remember who you are, the look said sternly. You must not let them see it on you.

The girl could sense it as well, Cunegarde thought and gave her the same look. The girl tilted her head ever so slightly and then looked back to her husband. Cunegarde's pride in them both was burning in her like an ember, telling her she'd finally done something right by toughening the girl as she had.

And the diamonds, thought the old woman, looked very well. She'd had the girl dress in a robe of golden brocade set with little pearls sent by the Turks, and with Cunegarde's long ropes of diamonds and the girl's own orders, she could not have looked more sumptuous, or more foreign, a creature to admire and fear a little, exactly as her aunt had wanted. She glittered dangerously, like a beautiful poisonous snake.

The lad, sallow and shivering, dropped into a chair and motioned for the elf to bring Edric to him. He wrapped both arms about the plump little body and nuzzled the downy cheek, murmuring to him in that absurd language of theirs.

Erasmus was holding forth, the dear man, on something he'd quite remembered from being young. 'It was such a good rout, Gardie, you do recall?'

'I do, Erasmus. You were awfully handsome then.'

'Still am, dear lady, still am.'

'Self praise is half scandal. Elf, bring pictures so my niece and nephews might see we're not quite senile yet.' Well, Erasmus was, but it wasn't liked he'd remember it long enough to get offended.

The elves brought stacks of old pictures in boxes and a few of the old albums. Stern faced men and glaring women looked back, moving stiffly in the fashion of the day. The girl nodded interestedly, especially when Erasmus pointed out Achilles and Klytemnestra to her.

'My grandfather looked very like my father and uncle, didn't he? They resemble him, I mean.'

'More your father. Rabastan has always favoured the Wilkes, I thought. That's Fulvia right there, your great-grandmother.'

The boy was still clutching the baby but his grip was loosening somewhat, and some colour was returning to his cheeks. Edric cooed, patting him with a tiny hand. The boy seemed not to really see him, look through him and past him.

'Erasmus, you look peaky to me. Is your angina acting up again?'

'What? Ah, yes. My heart…I mean, quite so, Gardie.'

'Elisaveta is coming back with us, I wish her to examine that rash on Edric's foot and she's agreed. If the two of you are ready.' She nodded to show them the proper answer and they both rose, giving Erasmus hugs and the promise of a visit again soon.

In the carriage, Cunegarde looked them over. The boy had a bruised aspect she recognized as despair. It would pass. It was the fury that would come after which worried Cunegarde. Her husband Clovis had been a bit like the boy, all stolid stoicism, but she knew better than anyone that diffidence and silence can mean nearly anything. Some anger is not heat and screaming, but icy, iron rage which, sharpened appropriately, could become a knife to cut the boy's enemies, or slit his own throat. She would have to guide them both.

The girl was sitting next to her husband, rather closer than protocol might have allowed for, saying nothing. She was stroking Edric's hair as the baby drowsed, eyes drifting shut. Cunegarde would, as always, lavish the girl with her attention in this regard. She deserved it.

'Boy, accompany me up the stairs when we get home.'

'Aunt Cunegarde' the girl started and her aunt raised a hand, eyes narrow. 'I wasn't speaking to you, miss. You're going to help Elisaveta with the baby, it's high time you learnt.' The girl's eyes widened and Cunegarde looked directly into them, trying to communicate that she was doing it for both their own good.

'Yes, Aunt Cunegarde.' Like every other time Cunegarde had hurt the girl, it was to make a better world for her in the end. Even if neither of them happened to like it much in the short term.

The house was quiet. Cunegarde ordered Linky to take her directly to her bedroom and put her in one of the wingchairs, where she sat in state, modish wig (saffron today) towering, hands in her lap.

'So?'

The boy shook his head. 'He is too far gone.'

'We knew that already. What exactly did you say to him?'

The boy told her tonelessly, like it had happened to someone else. Cunegarde listened, mind still sharp and strong, as sharp and strong as her body was weak and shaky. It was unfortunate that it had gone as it did, but in some ways it was perhaps preferable.

'You know how it is now, boy. You've both made your choices.'

'I know.'

'Do you? This is what greatness tastes like. Like ashes.'

'I know that, too.'

'Perhaps you do, at that. You and the other two.'

'Yes.' He slumped, big hands dangling between his knees, face a mask carved from roughly hewn stone.

'Well, what will you do about it?'

'Do about it?'

'You'll wake up every day in the knowledge your father chose your dead mother over you, boy. It will never leave you again. No matter what you do, it will be there, always.'

The boy raised his head slowly. 'It is alvready.'

Cunegarde believed what he said, and saw in it her mistakes of so very, very long ago. She refused to let the children follow the path she had taken, and in service to that, she leant over, eyes on the boy's.

'Only if you let it. We've all got ghosts, boy, but if you let them take you over you'll end precisely like Martin. Do you want that?'

He started violently. 'No! I'm a stronger man than that!' His hands knotted and then relaxed. Cunegarde's heart purred a low contented murmur. She had hit the right nerve. Perhaps she had spared her great great niece and her future children pain. Perhaps.

'Remember this, then, when you are tempted. And you will be tempted.' She waved her hand to let the boy know he was dismissed. He walked out, head down, and she shifted her attention to the other half of the equation.

Cunegarde's great great niece had changed into simpler at home clothes, plain robes and a simple hairstyle. She brought her aunt a tisane, which Cunegarde sipped as she looked the girl over.

'I suppose you know it was a failure this afternoon. With your husband and that man.'

'I thought it would be.'

'As did I, but this might do him some good. He sees now how it will always be.'

The girl twisted her wedding ring. 'Poor Viktor.'

'Bah. He's harder than that and you know it.'

'Yes, I do. That doesn't mean his feelings aren't hurt.'

'Obviously.' Cunegarde sipped her tisane. 'How will you help him?'

'The same as I always do, Aunt. Listening.'

'That's a start. You know, girl, I understand you think me harsh with me. And I am. But do you see why now?'

'I do.'

'Have you ever forgiven me what I said about those muggles?'

Hermione jerked like she'd been slapped. 'Aunt Cunegarde, let's don't.'

'I asked you a question.'

'No. I haven't, no.'

The old woman nodded slowly. It hurt, she knew it did, but better she hurt her than the world, which would spare the girl even less than she.

'Do you still believe it?'

The girl brought her chin up and pushed back her shoulders. 'No.'

Cunegarde permitted herself a smile, dentures chafing her mouth. 'Good. I am not often wrong, girl, but perhaps I was mistaken then. Anyone who raised you would had to have had a stronger constitution than that. It's where you learnt this stubbornness from, clearly. And your mother's blood didn't help anything.'

The girl's eyes, Klytemnestra's eyes, softened. She looked away a moment and then returned to herself, briskly stilling both hands. 'How can I best help Viktor?'

Cunegarde let herself laugh a little. It sounded rusty to her, but that was all right. She was 120 and she'd sound however she damned well wanted. She motioned for Linky to watch for interlopers and started the lesson.

Downstairs, Anu was wandering. The weird elf that lived here, Kreacher, had told him about a tapestry that depicted a battle against trolls, and Anu wanted to see whether it was as gory as the elf said. He thought it wouldn't be.

Salazar appeared from a room, and Anu dropped to his heels to hug the dog's neck. '*_Have you seen the troll tapestry, boy?*'_

The dog arfed as though he understood and trotted toward a small room at the end of the corridor. Anu followed him, curious, jumping a little when that creepy fellow fell in with them.

'_*Hello, Barty.*'_

'_*Anu. Where are we going?*'_

'_*Salazar is showing me where a tapestry is.*'_

'_*Oh, good.*' _

Barty sort of scared Anu a little bit. He giggled to himself, and Anu had the vague idea something bad had happened to him at some point that made him like this. Still, he had an obligation, and Drago said Barty was harmless.

The tapestry was indeed inside the room, and quite as bloody as promised. Anu watched it for some minutes, fascinated, and practiced a little of his English on Barty, who clapped delightedly every time he was right.

He didn't see Salazar go out, but he noticed when he came back because Viktor was with him. He looked funny, sickly, and he sat down like his legs wouldn't hold him up. Barty went over at once and began speaking English very quickly to him, patting his shoulder.

Anu waited a moment and slowly moved closer. Viktor had gone to see his Baba today, and it mustn't have gone well. Anu had asked Uncle Lucius about it the night before, wondering what he could do.

'_*Nothing*'_ Uncle Lucius said at once, and clapped his back. _'*Uncle Martin is…well, he's sick, Anu. In his mind.*'_

'_*Like Barty?*'_

'_*No. Barty's brain was hurt by a spell. Martin's…when Viktor's mother died, so did he. He chose to follow her in every way that counts.*'_

Anu hadn't asked any more. He wondered whether it would be worse to have no father at all, or one who was there and not there. Even having a father who was sick like Barty wouldn't be so bad, he reflected, because Barty could still spend time with a person, and give help, and hug when one was having a bad day.

How did one choose to follow the dead? Was it some Bulgarian thing? Or an English one? He didn't know. He didn't want to, really. But Viktor had always been nice to him, and so he slowly edged over, wishing for a cue.

Salazar nudged him. Anu knelt down an arm's length from the chair and stayed still. Salazar walked to Viktor's side, opposite Barty, and sat down, head on his knee. Viktor's shoulders were shaking.

Anu didn't know very much about having a father, but he knew how it was to miss having one. He moved a little closer, just a bit, and slowly stretched out a hand to touch Viktor on the shoulder.

Barty did it too, and the four of them sat and grieved in silence, and wishing for fathers that were there, or not there, or not fathers at all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Firstly : TRIGGER WARNING IN REGARDS TO TALK ABOUT SEXUAL ABUSE!**

**It is an unfortunate and terrible part of them human experience that people in positions of power sometimes abuse them, leaving a wreckage of lives behind them. Often the victims are those who cannot speak for themselves-children and others in positions of vulnerability.**

**After a good deal of soul searching, I have decided to address some germane parts of this in story. To be clear, at no point will any abuse be 'seen' by readers. The story deals with the aftermath, in pursuance of addressing the larger themes.**

**Therefore, and to reiterate: SOME CHAPTERS WILL CONTAIN CONVERSATION ABOUT, ****THOUGH NOT DEPICTIONS OF****, SEXUAL ABUSE. I will do my utmost to make sure chapters where this is an issue are clearly marked with trigger warnings so anyone who is not comfortable can step out.**

**I welcome any thoughts about this, and encourage readers to PM to discuss anything they might have resevervations about.**

**Madea's Rage**

Severus Snape's knee was throbbing. Regardless of what he'd told the girl (and the excellent salve), it sometimes bothered him when he stood for long periods, or it was going to rain. It was both, he suspected, at the moment, and sat down, hearing the tendons in the effected leg popping softly.

Across from him, the dog frowned. 'Snape?'

'Dog?'

'You don't look well. Is your leg bothering you?'

Snape pretended not to hear the question and sank down into one of the tatty chairs, letting his eyes close. The elf appeared with a goblet of pumpkin juice and a phial and Snape drank both before he said anything.

'It was quiet here, then?'

'Quiet-ish. Those kids down the lane were outside screaming.'

'They always are.' Snape much preferred the four hellions down the street to the little bastard next door, who'd been sent to youth detention after he was caught lighting fires in mailboxes.

'And the gnomes?'

The dog grinned. 'I've a plan.'

'Not this again.'

'What? It will work this time.'

'Your tiny Gyffindor brain is not made for strategy, Black. It will only baffle and upset you.'

'You're simply jealous that my flare for tactics has finally bloomed.'

Snape rolled his eyes. 'So nothing of any note happened, is that correct?'

'Not a damned thing.' Black sat down, loose limbed, and cracked his neck. His newly shorn hair was sticking up at all sorts of odd angles.

'Any news from Kingsley?'

Snape shook his head no. 'He's still looking for a way to destroy them, but the information simply isn't there. All those purges last century were apparently effective.'

'I can't believe Malfoy doesn't know anything.'

'His expertise is poisons and politics.'

'What about the portraits?'

'We're working on things. Why, have you got some relative you think would know?'

Black shrugged. 'Loads of them, but I was thinking Phineas. He seems the sort to me, and he spent loads of time with Dumbledore.'

Snape hated it when the dog made an intelligent remark. That might, however, work. How to get to the former Headmaster without looking suspicious? He set his mind to it and took the platter of food Mippy brought him.

'So how's the family, then?'

'Well. They asked after you, for whatever reason.'

Black preened a bit. 'No doubt they missed my piercing insights and chiselled good looks.'

'Or perceived a paucity of people who clean themselves with their tongues.'

Black snorted. 'At least I clean myself, full stop.'

'Tamm was following me about again. You did this. You've turned me into his bloody confidant.'

Black shook his head patiently. 'No, I've turned you into his father-figure. And you did most of it, by the way.'

'I did nothing of the sort. I am feared and despised by children.'

Black had the poor taste to look smug. 'Someone is protesting too much, I think.'

'I refuse to take advice from a man who eats garden gnomes for fun.'

'I don't eat them. I simply dispose of them and leave the parts scattered about. It's a gift, you know. Might try and conjure a bit of gratitude one of these days.'

'That's cats, you idiot.'

'What, I can't broaden my horizons? What was Tamm asking you?'

Snape ate a bit of his fish. 'You know it went badly when they went to see Martin?'

'I'd heard, yes.' Black stopped smiling. He sat up properly and accepted his own plate. Snape was in the habit of eating off a tray these days, which was probably lamentably common of him, but he found the idea bothered him not a whit, nor Black, from the way he was eating.

'He was asking what I thought about it.'

'What do you? Think about it?' Mippy appeared with more drinks for both men, and Snape sipped a bit to buy some time.

'I don't know, Black. The boy's certainly done well enough for himself, but this situation will never really improve. Who knows what damage is being done his psyche?'

'He's got the rest of us, at least. And Hermione.'

'Yes, to have gone have from being the adored centre of both parents' universe to having effectively no parents is not conducive to good mental health. Of course, I'm sure you've some sort of brilliant take on things, so please, do tell me.'

'I've not got any. He's a very closed up sort of person. Talk to Hermione. She's probably one of the few people who'll be able to get through to him.'

'I agree. And perhaps his uncles.'

Black was musing, hand to his chin as he did when he was trying to use his brain for something other than stupid quips. Arse of a dog. 'So what did you tell Tamm about it?'

'More or less the same.' Snape glowered, lest the filthy mongrel get the idea he was somehow all right with answering the boy's many questions.

Black nodded like he was…God help him, like he was encouraging him. Snape, incensed, leant forward, giving his most terrifying look. The git ignored it, smiling blandly as he munched a bit of fish.

'He's a nice kid. Tamm.'

'Black, get that appalling look off your face. You're clearly up to something, so out with it.'

'What look?'

'What—that **look** you've got.'

'This is just my face, Snape.'

'And it is offensive enough without that look of smug cunning plastered on it like cheap face paint on a two sickle whore.'

'Oi, there's nothing wrong with two sickle—that's not the point. It might be good for you.'

'If you're trying to imply having a child follow me about, pestering me, is somehow to my benefit, you're even dafter than I'd thought.' There, that should fix him.

Black was not his cousin, and the slight to his sanity bothered him not at all. 'He likes you, Snape. All I'm saying is it wouldn't kill you to spend some time with him. Take him for ice cream. Or to gather disgusting squishy potions parts, whatever it is you do in your spare time.'

'It would only encourage him.'

'He did offer to let you marry his mother.'

'How the hell do you know?'

Black raised a brow. 'I've my ways.'

'You were lurking about, is that it?'

'A Black does not lurk. It's common.'

Black sniffed, head back, looking so like Walburga that Snape had to stifle a laugh. Then he was back to grinning, eyes bright with some emotion Snape decided was below him to consider too closely.

'The point is, he thinks highly enough of you to want to share the only person he has in the whole world with you.'

'My goodness, Black, we're sentimental tonight. Is it that time of month?'

'If I said yes, would you go and get me a pint of chocolate peppermint ice cream and some gossip mags?'

Snape nearly choked on his dinner. 'Have you no shame?'

'None at all. Look, I just want what's best for everyone. And I'm, er, worried.'

'Worried?'

'Slughorn's…you know what he is, Snape.'

'A pederast, yes.'

'I just want to make sure Tamm knows he can tell someone if…' Black looked unusually serious, and Snape found his ire slowly fading (slightly!) as he followed the fellow's logic, if you could call anything that came from Black logic.

'Is there some reason you'd be particularly worried?'

'What, Snape, no sarcasm? No mockery?'

As a teacher, Snape was well aware of what might have happened. Still, he did have a reputation to uphold. 'I was going to wait until you'd unburdened your soul to me and then use it against you.'

'That sounds about right. No, I've nothing to tell you about that. Just a thought, is all.'

'That's a rare enough occasion, so I suppose I ought to be content in that.' Snape ate a bit of the salad Mippy had served with the fish.

'Why? Have you?'

Snape coughed a little as he swallowed the wrong way. 'Me?'

'You.' Black was without humour for once, elbows on the table, looking directly at Snape with a strangely earnest cast to his features.

Snape slammed down his fork. 'How dare you try to reduce me to some sort of imagined tragedy?'

'You asked me, and you were the likelier victim. You were a teacher, Snape, you know that.'

Snape nodded once in acknowledgment, snapping his neck like a snake striking. 'No.'

Black nodded. 'Wanted to be an auror, remember?'

'How could I forget, with your bringing it up twice a day?'

'Oh, because you never do it too. You practically wear a sign that reads "I fancy myself a bad man".'

'Fancy myself? I am a Death Eater.'

'You aren't either. Haven't been for years.'

'I've a Mark.'

'And I can turn into a dog, but that doesn't make me Bess, now does it?'

'What are you driving at, Black?'

Black resumed eating, poking his salad with distaste. 'That this rabbit food is not fit for wizards, for one. I just wish we could watch Slughorn more closely, is all. We've all but staked that boy out for him, Snape.'

'I know, and so does Tamm. He wanted to do it.'

'To please the only men who've ever given him a minute's thought? I suspect if you'd given him a knife and ordered him to bring old Sluggy's head back, he'd have tried to do it.'

Snape could feel little prickles of truth in what the idiot dog was saying. 'What's your solution, then?'

'I've not got one.'

'Tamm's got a good head on his shoulders. And perhaps Slughorn will be too afraid to try anything.'

'I'd be surprised if he didn't. The whole set-up is almost too perfect.' He sounded glum, darkly sure it would play out as he saw it. Snape wanted to ask again, certain the dog was lying to him, or had left something out.

'Black? You're an awful liar. You always were.'

'It wasn't me, but it…I suspect it was Regulus.'

Snape kept his face neutral. 'Oh. What makes you…?'

'Reg changed during his fourth year. I wonder now…I might have asked.'

'You were young and stupid, you did not think of it.' Snape had no idea how he'd come to defend anything the dog did, ever, but the fool was no good to him moping about like a lovesick teenage girl. Wasn't it?

'Yes, but I should have-'

'What makes you think it was Slughorn? It could have been something else entirely.'

'Slughorn sort of, took him under his wing, as I remember. And Mother and Father were having problems. It would all fit.'

Snape nodded. 'And Regulus was a retiring sort.'

'He wouldn't have said anything. Slughorn would have been able to smell his vulnerability.'

Snape found the dog's thoughtful sadness disturbing. 'If you come up with some solution, I shall implement it. In the meantime…'

'Yes?' Black was seemingly recovered, a bit.

'Eat your vegetables or no pudding.'

'You great wanker.'

'Tsk tsk, I should hate to have to tell dear Walburga.'

Miles away, Kreacher was thinking the same. Master Sirius had gone to Spinner's End with Master Halfblood to discuss things, and Kreacher was rather at loose ends, as the young Master and Mistress were cloistered upstairs with orders for privacy and the others had left to go to their own homes.

He sighed, using his rag to polish Mistress's frame a bit more. His knees were bothering him lately. It was very lonely sometimes, being trapped in a failing body. He stretched, wishing Master Edric was there so he could feed him some little treat to make him smile.

Voices. Strange voices, outside. Kreacher went rigid the instant before he Apparated himself to the scene, invisible and silent. Aurors, he thought, stomach twisting with hate. His mouth peeled back and he hissed inaudibly, filled with rage that they'd invaded the sacred confines of Grimmauld Place.

Or were trying to. One of them was holding a nearly invisible wire with a tiny cup on the end. With the aid of a comrade, he was attempting to stick it to a window, clearly hoping to use a Listening Charm to spy on the inhabitants.

Not on Kreacher's watch. He swooped closer and made himself visible an inch from the lead auror's face. 'Sneak thieves! Help, help!'

'No, no! Elf, it isn't like that.'

'What is it like, then? Trying to rob Grimmauld Place!'

'No, no. We're, ah, making sure the Lord Protector is safe. There have been reports of, er, troublemakers in the neighbourhood.'

Kreacher's eyes narrowed. He bent closer, drew in a breath of air, and flexed a finger. The aurors went flying back, landing in the gutter with a loud and undignified plop. Kreacher flew after them, flapping his arms and shrieking to drive them off. The aurors, defeated, turned tail and Apparated with indecent haste.

Kreacher collected the listening wire and set it aside. He resumed polishing in silence, head down, the only sound the beating of his heart. He felt younger, less afraid now. Abruptly, he wondered whether he could find a way to further Master Halfblood's designs. Setting down his rag, he Apparated to Spinner's End, listening device in hand.

Sirius was lounging in the chair that was, by dint of long residency, his when Kreacher burst in. He stood up, worried, and approached the elf at once. 'Kreacher, what's wrong?'

'Aurors' the elf said, and handed over the wire. 'They tried to tap the House of Black!'

Sirius examined the thing. It was tiny, cunningly done, and no doubt state of the art. He pocketed it and asked Mippy to get Snape.

Snape seemed unimpressed. 'Bumbling idiots. No wonder we lost the war, the way these fools carry on.'

'We didn't lose the war.'

'We would have with these jackasses wandering about.' Snape was looking the thing over as Sirius had done, and finally sent it, via Mippy, to the false Mulciber.

'Kreacher?'

The elf bowed. 'Master Halfblood?'

'Snape. My name is Severus Snape.'

'Master Halfblood Snape?'

Sirius tried not to chuckle. 'Just Master Snape, Kreacher. And Hermione will back me up.'

Kreacher made a rude noise. 'Young Mistress is too good and kind.'

'She is, but that isn't the point.' The little monster was giving him the eye, the one that made him feel six again. He frowned straight back and sat again, satisfied there was no immediate crisis.

'Did you need something, Kreacher?'

'Kreacher is wanting to help. Aurors sniffing about the house! Disrupting Master Edric's sleep! Making Master angry!' The elf was getting worked up. Sirius might have been irritated by his old nanny sometimes, but he didn't want him to give himself apoplexy.

'Calm down, would you? We'll fix it.'

'Master Sirius, Kreacher is 370 years old. The time for being calm is past now.'

Sirius snorted. Kreacher was honest, at least. His shoulder was tight and aching, and he resolved to get a bit of that milk sap pod salve to smear on it. Really very inconvenient, this business of aging.

Snape had an odd look on his face, at once speculative and cautious. 'I suppose, Kreacher, you know Horace Slughorn.'

Kreacher nodded at once. 'Master Slughorn, yes.' His tone said a multitude of things. Sirius could sense the elf wanted to say more about it, so when Snape did not pursue the subject, he did.

'You don't like him, Kreacher?'

'Is not Kreacher's place to like wizards.'

'Don't play coy. You like him or you don't.'

Kreacher sniffed. 'Kreacher is teaching Master Sirius better manners than that.'

Snape, damn him, was veritably rubbing his hands together in glee. Sirius, knowing one caught one hinkeypunks with pumpkin juice than bat spleen, inhaled.

'You're right, Kreacher, that was rude. What I meant was, please speak freely.'

The elf nodded, satisfied his once charge had remembered his manners. 'Master Slughorn is being a bad man.'

'We know. That's why we need your help.'

Snape was nodding. 'We'll need the children to invite him to dinner.'

'Dinner, yes. Then what?'

'We need to see what he knows. His mind is quite formidably guarded. If you should administer him a potion, it would help.'

Kreacher seemed to take this as par for the course. 'Then Kreacher gives him the poison?'

'Poison?'

The elf looked at Sirius like he was a small child. 'Master Sirius, if Master Slughorn is dangerous, then Kreacher takes care of the problem.'

'No' said Snape quickly 'he is of more use to us alive, for the nonce.'

Sirius was still reeling from the suggestion of poison. 'Have you done that a lot, then, Kreacher?'

'Not lately. It is not fashionable now, Master Sirius.'

'But in the old days?'

'Kreacher is good elf, did what he was told.'

Perhaps he was happier not knowing. 'All right, then. Was there anything else?'

'No, Master Sirius. Kreacher is going now?'

'Would you get Black something for his shoulder first, please? He's being a stubborn arse about it.' That from Snape, who looked smirky and annoying, safely outside the elf's purview. Tosser.

'My shoulder feels fine.'

'Liar.'

'When did you get so soliticious, Snape?'

'When I realised what an ass you are when you're in pain.' Kreacher had vanished and reappeared with a phial. He handed it over and watched sternly as Sirius downed it. He shoulder loosened a bit.

'Thank you, Kreacher.'

'Masters is needing to take medicine. Not getting better without medicine. Kreacher will remind Masters. Master Snape is not often taking potion for his hurt knee.'

Sirius rolled his eyes. 'You do know we're adults?' He gave Snape a pointed look. Not so funny now, was it?

'Younger than Kreacher.'

That was indubitably true, and so they, and the elf, plotted strategies for some time, until Snape got a tight, malevolent smile on his face. 'Incidentally, Kreacher, I had to speak to Black quite firmly about eating his vegetables earlier. Perhaps you'd like to tell him your thoughts on the subject?'

Bastard, thought Sirius, and then resigned himself as Kreacher, looking both cross and pleased, started in with the harangue.

He wasn't the only one. Rabastan Lestrange liked this business with Slughorn not a bit, and he expressed it very firmly to Penko when the former Firecalled to speak to Hermione about the water bag making enterprise.

_'*Macedonia ordered how many, Uncle?*'_

_'*Fifteen hundred. Sose thinks they can have them ready by two weeks from yesterday.*'_

_'*My word, that's wonderful.*' _She beamed and sat up on her knees. _'*We'll need to get Aunt Sose something nice to celebrate.*'_

_'*I'm sure she'd like more pictures. She's very taken with the ones you sent, I think.*'_

_'*Anu's got Draco's old camera, so I'm sure we'll have plenty.*' _They chatted a few more minutes before she went to tell Viktor the good news, pleased by the prospect of filling the nearly empty treasury a bit more.

Rabastan knelt down as soon as the door had closed. _'*How are you, love?*'_

Penko grinned. '_*Couldn't be better. That's just one order. I think the Lithuanians are going to make an overture when they come in July, and those idiots with the pamphlets have greatly lessened.*'_

_'*Excellent. And personally?*'_

_'*I miss you. It's been the longest few months of my life.*'_

_'*Me, too.*' _

Rabastan smiled back at his younger lover, missing him with a yearning that was physical in its intensity.

_'*Thank you for the pictures. Edric is so big now.*'_

_'*He is, isn't he? He's been walking a bit, too.*'_

Penko and Rabastan spoke lightly for a few minutes, until Penko said, very softly _'*Rab?*'_

_'*Yes, darling?*'_

_'*How is Viktor dealing with Martin's...Martin?*'_

Rabastan inhaled deeply. '*_He's very quiet. He and Hermione spend a good deal of time alone. I expect he's talking to her about it.*'_

_'*He's not said anything?*'_

_'*I've not asked. When he's comfortable, he'll bring it up.*'_

Penko nodded English style. '*_I appreciate that you're all there for him.*'_

_'*What about yourself? And Rumen?*'_

_'*Rumen is livid with Martin. I rather thought it would go this way, but one always hopes, I suppose.*'_

_'*If it's any comfort, Elisaveta has come to stay with us for the duration of the visit. *'_

_'*How is she?*'_

_'*Frail. And very sad, I should think.*'_

_'*Does she know that Draco did for Stefan?*'_

_'*No, thank God. She's never asked, that I know of.*'_

Penko seemed relieved. '_*Good. She doesn't need to know that.*'_

_'*I agree. You've heard about the teacher, I take it?*'_

_'*I have. Slugman, is that right?*'_

_'*Slughorn, Horace Slughorn. He was my Head of House when I was in school.*'_

_'*I sense you aren't thrilled by this, Rabastan.*'_

_'*I'm not.*' _Rabastan was loathe to communicate his reservations over the Floo, secure connexion or no. Penko caught his eye and winked.

_'*No doubt you were very naughty when you were young.*'_

_'*Me? Of course not, I was a perfect angel.*'_

_'*I'm asking your brother whether he agrees.*'_

_'*When I wasn't, he was nearly always the cause.*'_

Penko laughed. _'*I can see that, Rab. Am I to take it this personal disinclination is not school related?*'_

'*Something like that.*'

Rabastan bent closer to the Floo. '*_He is our best hope for a resolution to this...this thing, but damned if I can stand the thought of letting him near the boys.*'_

Penko understood at once. '*_You don't mean to say...*'_

_'*I do.*'_

_'*Do they know what he is?*'_

_'*The children? They do. I took Anu aside the other night and made sure he understood.*'_

Penko was silent, eyes wide. '_*He's __**bait**__?*'_

_'*Not in so many words, but yes, I suspect that's the idea.*'_

_'*How could they...*'_

Rabastan couldn't tell him about the second Horcrux over the Floo. He summoned a piece of paper and wrote it down, holding it so Penko could read, making sure to cast a spell that would obscure the writing should someone have somehow got a Peeping Jinx on the study despite their precautions.

Penko made a low, sick sound. '*_And to do this, we have to use the children?*'_

_'*Yes. I've never felt so dirty in my life.*'_

_'*If we don't, many more children could die before...things took their course.*'_

_'*I know. But Penko, the children trust us.*'_

_'*You know, I've decided my English could use some practice. Madam Scabior as well, I don't doubt. Madam Tamm, perhaps even Scabior himself. His reading is not very good.*'_

_'*I think we'll have a very full class.*' _

Rabastan still didn't like it. He could justify the things he'd done for the Cause because at least those people (most of them) had been adults. To use their charges as the lambs which drew the lion, though...

_'*Damn it! What is this turning us in to?*'_

_'*Rabastan, shhhh.*'_

_'*I am not that filthy old man's pimp, and neither are Hermione or Viktor. It's vile, this whole business.*'_

_'*No one said you were, and Anu's a smart boy. He knows he can tell us if anything should happen.*'_

Rabastan closed his eyes, wishing he could touch Penko. '*_Make sure Scabior knows.*'_

_'*He does, I'm sure. He's very clever that way.*'_

_'*He is.*'_

Rabastan wished this was not the next step, because if it was, what came after would be harder and more dangerous and very likely more vile. He was prepared, for himself, to accept that. But when he closed his eyes, it was Edric's face he saw in his mind. What about his son?

He would anything, he knew, to save his boy's life. If it meant sacrificing other children, was he prepared to do it? The answer sickened him. A lot of things did, these days.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**2011 went really quickly, it seems like. Well, here's hoping everyone has a successful and safe 2012.**

Draco Malfoy had a list of things he'd rather do than attend dinner with the unctuous Professor Slughorn. If one considers that amongst them was eating a live bowtruckle, dancing with trolls and flying naked in a blizzard, it gives an accurate picture of his general feelings on the thing as his valet finished inserting his shirt studs.

Draco frowned, brow furrowing. His valet noticed. 'Something is wrong, Master?'

'No. I just don't want to go.'

He finished dressing and emerged from the room he was sharing with Barty and Anu to find Sirius-Salazar staring up at him. The dog mock bowed and Draco bent to scratch his neck. 'Is he here yet, Salazar?'

The dog barked twice, which meant no, and took off the corridor, tail wagging. Draco wished he felt as optimistic; he could smell disaster all over tonight. At best, it would be hours of listening to the old man (who'd struck Draco as a droning blowhard). At worst, it would come down to wands.

Most of the rest of the family was waiting in the parlour. Drinks were being passed out, and Draco took some violet water, sipping at it and wishing it was something stronger.

On his other side, Hermione was chatting with Mother, laughing behind her hand at some story Mother was telling. Viktor was speaking softly to Uncle Rabastan, nodding his head.

The front door opened. The room tensed, hands reaching for wands, but it was only Kreacher, guiding the fellow into the room. He bowed to the ladies and took the seat offered to him, and the wine. Draco sneaked a look at his godfather. Snape was po-faced, but the very slight tilt of his head implied he was pleased. Slughorn turned to him, goblet in hand.

'Severus, I expect you know how excited I am to see Bulgaria. That lovely Madam Skeeter-you remember her, she was three years behind you in school?-she's told me how much she enjoyed it Sofia.'

Draco rather doubted that. He had seen Madam Skeeter during that time period, and she'd looked miserable every second. Come to think of it, he'd seen her in Britain as well, and she'd still looked miserable. Some sort of personal thing? Or perhaps something that could be used?

Slughorn was still talking. 'And so I told him, yes, but he'd have to wait his turn!' The room chuckled politely, except for Barty, who cocked his head, looking slightly like a large budgie.

'Professor, that really wasn't very funny. Haven't you got any **funny **stories?'

'Barty Crouch!' Uncle Rabastan hissed quite efficiently without turning his head. Barty did turn his, and said in a stage whisper as loud as most people's speaking voices 'Well, Rab, it wasn't, and it's wrong to lie.'

'Barty, this is not the time.'

'Lucius, isn't it wrong to lie?'

'It depends on context, Barty. Have you checked on Salazar lately? He might be chewing on my new boots.'

'Salazar doesn't chew on things.'

'Perhaps he's started.'

'I can go and look, if you'd like.' Barty darted from the parlour like a pixy, muttering to himself.

'I'm sorry, Professor. I can't imagine what's got into him.'

Slughorn waved it away. 'Not at all, not at all. Now, as I was saying...'

Barty had the right of it, as it turned out. Slughorn's stories were boring. The next part of the evening was not, as, midway through dinner, the man abruptly passed out in the parsnips.

Draco sensed his godfather had a hand in things, and so when Snape rose, Draco rose with the rest of the table as Kreacher and Mippy levitated the snoring Professor into the parlour and laid him out on a divan, cleaning the food which had crusted in his eyebrows.

The plan had always been for Barty to eat with Cunegarde, but that left Anu, who was watching goggle eyed as the thing went down. Uncle Rodolphus clapped his shoulder gently.

'Anu, do you trust us?'

'Yes, Uncle.'

'That's the good boy.' Uncle Rodolphus raised his wand and stunned him, catching him before he could fall and handing him to the elves to take to a bedroom. The others pressed closer, making sure everything was locked and well warded before the next thing could commence.

'Bellatrix, I will need your help. Everyone else, guard the doors.'

The group fanned out. Draco watched, fascinated, as Snape knelt so he was level with Slughorn's head. Mippy appeared and pried the fellow's eyes open, and Aunt Trixie came and sat carefully next to Snape, holding a small Pensieve in her lap, wand at the ready.

Snape raised his own wand. 'Legilimens.' His body relaxed and then tensed all over, even his feet pulling up a little. Aunt Trixie looked tense as well, watching Snape carefully.

After a few fraught moments, Snape nodded jerkily. Aunt Trixie raised her wand and tapped his head gently, coming away with a filament of silver, spidery and dripping, and dropped it in the basin.

Draco lost count of the number of times they repeated the strange activity. Finally Snape sat back on his heels, one hand clamped tight over his eyes. 'Enough for tonight.'

Aunt Bellatrix handed the Pensieve over to the elf, who carried it to the table and warded it. The rest of them came back and sat down, ignoring Slughorn, whose snores reminded Draco of an irate goose.

Kreacher brought Snape a phial and he downed it as Sirius strolled over and tugged him to his feet. 'You haven't fainted on us, Snape?'

'You should be so lucky.' Snape was even sallower than usual, staggering a little where he stood.

Aunt Bellatrix gently pushed Mother out of the way and came closer. 'Well, Snape?'

'Yes and no.'

'What does that mean?'

'They've been altered. By whom, it's impossible to say.'

Aunt Bellatrix looked outraged, opening her mouth and preparing to say something until Mother put a hand to her arm. 'Thank you, Severus. We know you've tried your hardest.'

'You're welcome, Narcissa. Bellatrix, I should think you'll want to help me sort through this and figure out how to restore the originals.

Aunt Trixie nodded at once. 'Let's go, then.' Snape seemed to have recovered, and the two of them sat down and started. It was a long, long night. Draco sat down and wished it had just been a bunch of boring stories, because what they found out was so much worse. That was later, though.

Dawn found Draco standing with Snape. The sun was coming up, and the parlour, normally a sort of muted dove grey, had taken on a surprisingly pretty tinge of coral and gold from the rising sun.

'Seven of them.'

'Perhaps.'

'You don't think he did it, Godfather?'

'I'm not sure anyone could do it that many times and live. If we are very lucky, perhaps it's fewer than that.'

'Do you expect he'll want to make more, then? If it isn't?'

'He's not strong enough right now, but every day brings that eventuality closer. We must be sure he doesn't create any more.'

'How do we do that?'

Snape sighed. He looked old to Draco, and tired, sharp face embroidered with new lines. He tugged the collar of his robes up in the pre-dawn chill. It was a cold morning, as every morning had been lately.

'I don't know, Draco.'

'I was thinking earlier, Godfather. What about Rita Skeeter?'

'She's a bit old for you, but your tastes are your business.'

Draco went red. 'No, no I mean, perhaps we can use her.'

Snape, who'd been smirking. stopped. 'Use her, Draco?'

'She looks unhappy. Perhaps she would want to help us.'

'It would be a terrible risk, Draco.'

'All of it is.'

'She could be unhappy for dozens of reasons. Chiefly, she is Metellus Travers'...friend.'

'Mistress, Godfather. I'm fifteen.'

'Mistress, then. If you had to wake every morning to Travers, you too would look miserable.'

'She looked miserable in Sofia as well.'

'Knowing she had to go home to Travers.'

'Godfather, please.'

Snape nodded. 'Very well, Draco, I will try to find out. It is a good idea, truly, if it is as you suspect.'

The sky was lightening more and more. 'What will you do with Slughorn?'

'Wake him and convince him he drank too much.'

'No, I mean, is he still of use to us?'

'I should think so. If nothing else, he can teach the Bulgarian side of the family English.'

'Is he going to spy for the Dark Lord?'

'Of course he is. We'll simply use Slughorn to convince him nothing untoward is going on.'

Draco thought that made sense. 'Was he a good teacher?'

'He's a very talented potioner.'

'That's a no, then.'

'He gave me free access to his library, probably to shut me up.'

'Didn't he like having an interested student?'

'Not one as tiresome as I.'

'You're not either.'

'I was then.'

Draco didn't believe it. Snape was smart; surely anyone who wasn't some sort of idiot would want to nurture that, as he himself had always been nurtured. His godfather rarely talked about himself and nearly never about the past as it pertained to him personally. Draco was old enough to understand that some things are best left buried.

'Father said once you had a genius for inventing spells and things.'

'Hardly a genius. And Slughorn didn't think so.'

'Why not?'

'He caught me selling them to other students. I devised a potion that allowed the user to present a very respectable approximation of a sore throat.'

Draco grinned. 'He gave you the books as a bribe?'

'More or less.'

'What else did you invent?'

Snape's face seemed to tighten a second before he was back to his usual impassive self. 'Nothing of any great import, surely.'

'We'd still like to learn.'

'We?'

'All of us. Viktor and Hermione and I.'

The sun was almost fully up now, and Snape looked out the window a long moment before he answered. 'I suppose it would be possible.'

Draco was more curious than ever, but he had learnt a few tricks of his own. He just nodded. He'd find out in time, he trusted, and went, finally, to bed.

Edric was fussy again, and so Barty was awake. He'd woken up when he heard the baby crying, and as dawn broke, he was toting him, singing him the song about the three little kneazle kittens who lost their mittens.

The reason Edric was fussy was that he was teething. A new tooth, this one a molar, was poking through his gums. He sniffled, head buried in Barty's neck. He was getting heavier, at least. That meant he was tired.

'I know, Edric. Go to sleep. We'll have our walk when you wake up, all right?' It was very important to Barty that Edric get sunshine and fresh air. Desmond had been sickly as a baby, and plenty of being outdoors would help protect Edric.

Barty saw Draco heading for his room. It had been a very long party, he thought, glad he hadn't had to attend. Professor Slughorn was longwinded. Barty might have been mad, but even he knew it was vulgar to drop names that way.

Edric lifted his head and fussed a bit louder, experimentally. Barty jiggled him, humming. Sometimes the sound of a heartbeat would soothe the baby, and he went to find Kreacher, to ask him to amplify his own so Edric would doze another few hours.

Barty caught sight of flapping black robes through the cracked parlour door.

'Sev? What's wrong?'

Sev turned round. He looked terrible, rings under his eyes, face sallower than usual. Barty felt a blossom of concern and stepped into the parlour. Edric had stopped fussing. Instead, he was looking about himself like an owl, waving his arms a bit.

'Hello Barty, Edric.' Sev sounded tired, too. He sat down, and Barty, more worried by the second, moved closer.

'What's wrong, Sev?'

'Nothing, Barty. Just a very late night.'

'Are you sure? You look terrible. In the kindest way, I mean.' He frowned; everyone needed to work on telling the truth, it seemed to him. He'd talk to Rodolphus about having a family meeting to discuss it. It was a very poor example to the children.

Sev nodded slowly. 'It's been quite a stressful few days.'

'With the children coming back and Martin and all. Have you been taking care of yourself, though?'

'I have, Barty, thank you. Yourself?'

Barty nodded. 'I'm fine, Sev. Was it a very good party?'

Sev shook his head. 'No. You know how Slughorn is.'

'I don't like him.'

'Any reason?' Sev looked interested and really awake for the first time, and Barty leant closer. He didn't want to hurt Slughorn's feelings if the man was close by, after all.

'He likes the sound of his own voice too much. It was very rude of him to hog the room like he did.'

'That's true. Why have you got Edric, Barty?'

Barty jiggled Edric again. 'He's getting new tooth. He wants to be held.'

'Eugenia knows?'

'Of course. Zdratza told her when she first saw it.'

'No, I mean that you have Edric?'

'Yes. She needs her sleep, you know.'

Barty thought Gennie looked loads better than she had, but sometimes she seemed nervous to him, and sad. Mother had always said sleep helped make things look brighter in the morning. He hoped so. He wanted everyone to feel good.

'So do you, Barty.'

'I took a late nap yesterday.'

Sev stood up and started to walk a bit. He did that to make sure his leg didn't cramp. Barty walked with him, Edric riding on his hip. 'Sev?'

'Yes, Barty?'

'What can we do to help Viktor?'

Sev turned and went across the room. 'I don't know, Barty. Have you got any ideas?'

Barty explained what had happened in the tapestry room. 'We spent a long time together. I didn't get on with my father, you know.'

'I did know.'

'Would it help if we distracted him, do you think?'

Sev's face tightened with pain as he stepped. 'It will rain later. And no, I think it best if Viktor worked through this.'

'Oh. So Martin isn't going to go back to Bulgaria?'

'Probably not for some time.'

'It might be better. Maybe he feels like he's helping more if he's here.'

'Quite so.'

'I wish it were different, though. It's hard to watch Viktor being sad.'

'It is, isn't it?'

'Sev? Are you ever sad like that?'

'About my father?'

'Your parents. I'm sorry Father and I got on so badly, sometimes.'

Sev stopped and stood on the knee, grunting once with pain. 'My father was not a-he was a difficult man, Barty.'

'I know. And your mother was not well.'

'No, she wasn't.'

'You did the best you could.' It seemed to Barty that the world was a very unfair place, sometimes. He'd never seen anyone work so hard for others as Sev; surely the Universe ought to have recognised that?

'We all do. Is that why you spend so much time with Edric, Barty?'

'Partly. Partly I just like babies.'

'But you want to be a presence in his life?'

'Of course. If something should happen to Rab...but it won't.'

Barty gave offerings every day to be sure that Rabastan and the others would be safe, and he felt sure that the ancestors would listen. His dear mother would never let anything happen to a man with so many people who needed him.

'I'm sure it comforts him to know you'll be there for Edric, Barty.'

'I missed having my father there when I was young. It's nice to be able to make up for that, you know.'

'Yes.' Sev had a funny look on his face. Barty gently touched his arm to make him feel better.

'It's all right, Sev.'

'It is.' He still looked off to Barty. When he spoke to Rodolphus, he fully intended to mention people needing to be honest about health issues most especially.

'Why don't you sit down? You can cuddle Edric a bit.' Barty handed the baby to his dear friend, who took him. Edric cooed companionably, snuggling into Snape and babbling a bit, perhaps saying his two knuts' worth.

Sev sat back down on the divan, clearly deep in thought. Barty summoned Kreacher. 'Would you get a pillow and blanket, please, Kreacher?'

The elf did, and Barty leant over and tucked the pillow behind Sev's back. Mother had had lumbago, and he supposed if it had helped her back, it would help Sev's knee. He covered him with the blanket. If people wouldn't do what was best for them, he'd just have to help them.

Sev raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. 'Thank you, Barty.'

'I worry, Sev. I do.'

'You mustn't. I am like a cockroach, very hard to squash.'

'Now, that's not so. Everyone knows how much we depend on you.'

Edric started to whimper and Sev patted his back absently. 'It keeps me busy.'

'Are you going to rest?'

'I will try. Are you going to take Edric?'

'No, he'll go to sleep if you do. I'll see you later, all right?' Barty closed the door, feeling glad he could help his friend.

Hermione emerged from the bedroom just after four. She padded down the corridor in her dressing gown, hair frizzy from sleep. Rinky was following after, and Kreacher, wearing a snowy new loincloth after Hermione had insisted.

''Mistress is going to go and visit the Mistress soon?'

'Yes, Kreacher, as soon as I'm dressed. Goodness, what a strange night.' The elves had already run her water, and she skinned out of her nightdress and stepped in, sighing with pleasure as the hot water lapped her skin.

'Miss is being all right?'

'I'm fine, Rinky. Just a bit of a backache. It's that time next week.' She made a face and then laid back. Kreacher had poured plenty of bath salts in, so the water was both fragrant and tinted a pretty light blue.

The elves hovered nearby, neither saying much. Hermione liked that. There was very little room for comfortable silences in her life these days. She closed her eyes and drifted.

Rinky cleared his throat. 'Master is being outside, Miss.'

'Invite him in, Rinky, please.'

Her husband was wearing his dressing gown, which always looked a little funny to Hermione. He wore it as formally as he did everything else. He closed the door quickly behind himself and sat on the stool Kreacher brought for him. Hermione sat up, water dripping into the tub.

'Is something wrong?'

He shook his head English style. 'I have to use the vater closet.'

Hermione smiled and reached for his hand. 'Don't let me stop you.' He bent and kissed her cheek. He stepped into the other room and then came back. He seemed distant and dreamy-sad.

'Viktor? Why don't you get in with me?' The tub was big enough. He turned, surprised by the request, and to her amusement, blushed a bit.

'If somevon should come...'

'We're married, and you could scrub my back.' He nodded, folding his dressing gown over the back of his chair and stepping into the water.

'Vas your sleep good?'

'Very good. What about you?'

'Yes. You know, I got a package today.'

'Of what?' She hadn't heard the owl, but probably it had just come. Viktor looked wry.

'Uncle Penko sent me a...little statue. From Qvidditch.'

'You mean like an action figure?'

It took a little doing, but finally she figured it out and asked Rinky to go and get it with Viktor's permission. Kreacher brought forth a large wooden tray which clamped to the sides of the tub as Rinky set the package down reverently. It was indeed a tiny version of Viktor. The figure scowled up at them, arms crossed, shuffling across the tray very like the original.

'He is qvite a grumpy fellow, I think.'

'He's just deep in thought.'

Viktor snorted. 'No. Doesn't vant to be looked at.' The tiny Viktor ambled to the other side of the tray, glaring.

'Maybe he's tired.'

'He is alvays tired.'

'A nice bath will help.'

'Bath is much nicer vith company. He needs a vife to keep him from being fighty all the time.'

Hermione smiled and touched his shoulder lightly. 'Did Uncle Penko send a letter?'

'He did. They miss us. Children are very sad they could not come.'

'Any news of Romania?'

Viktor shook his head glumly. 'Yes, unfortunately. Now they say real Pavel is dead. They say ve have, ah, not-vreal Pavel.'

'They're saying ours is a fake?'

'Yes, fake.'

'That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.'

'Is vhy the little statue is grumpy. He found out before us.'

Hermione wanted to throw something against the wall with a satisfying crash. 'This is absurd.'

'Yes, vell, ve find a vay. Perhaps ve ask them for test to prove ours is vreal.'

'We should get the press on this. They might take him to shut us up.'

'I think they vill never admit he is theirs.'

'Probably not.' Hermione was irritated that Romania had ruined a very nice bath. The little Viktor paced about, grimacing at the larger version. Normal sized Viktor shook a finger at him.

'No vife for you until you have better vay about yourself.'

'Attitude?'

'Yes. Vimen do not like a bad attitude.' The little Viktor stalked to the other side of the tray, his back to them. Hermione grinned at her husband, relieved he was apparently feeling a bit better.

'Letters from the children, too. Ivan sent sveets for us, and Barty. Yana sent Anu a letter as vell. Anka is having bad dreams vithout him there, she says.'

Hermione giggled. 'Anka's really quite fragile.' She sobered, wondering whether Yana was acting out her own feelings using the doll.

Viktor must have wondered the same, or else seen her frown, because he squeezed her hand gently and motioned for her to turn so he could wash her back. She did, and he bent, pressing his lips to the nape of her neck.

'Viktor, are you...do you feel better?'

He nodded, head pressed against her back, listening to her heart. 'Yes and no. I think sometimes it is never vreally better, Herm-on-nee-knee. But von cannot live like this. It is better to keep moving. Like on the march.'

'It's a good comparison.' It was, too, she thought. A person would freeze unless they forced themselves forward, and so Viktor was doing, grimly focused on the prize at the end of the trek.

'It is true.' His head was still pressed to her back. She feel the slight rasp of facial hair against the knobs of her spine. Lately she'd noticed they seemed less prominent, and her body generally was a touch rounder than it had been. Rinky said she was filling out. Just to be sure, she'd taken a pregnancy test, relieved when it had come back negative. This was not the time.

She reached back and caught his hand, squeezing. He squeezed back, and she snuggled into him, looking up at him. 'Viktor? You are the strongest person I know.'

Viktor blushed. 'No, just lucky.'

'That's not true. You never let things get you down.'

'Nor you.'

She shook her head. 'Sometimes I do. I used to get very nervous when people went away, and things like that, remember? You helped me get over it.'

'You vere just young and scared.

'You helped me not to be.'

He kissed her forehead. 'Sometimes I vorry. Vhat happens vhen ve have a baby? Father vas good father until he vas not. Vhat if it is in the blood?'

Hermione turned fully round. 'Of course it isn't.' And God help the person she heard suggest otherwise to him, because she'd hex them senseless.

'Sometimes these things are.'

'Sometimes. But not this.'

He suddenly grinned. 'I don't think you vill let it be, love.'

'No. I'll scare it off.'

'You can, too.'

Hermione stroked his cheek. 'Your turn now.' His back was broad and hard, scored with scars from old Quidditch injuries. He was slightly broken out on one shoulder, and she sent Kreacher for some salve to rub on it when they were dry.

'Before ve vere married, I used to think sometimes about this.'

'Taking a bath together?'

He was slightly pink about the cheeks. 'Being married. Sharing bed, going for valks, spending time.'

'Is it like you thought it would be?'

'Better.' He turned carefully about and took the sponge from her hand, gently tipping her head back to wash her neck and face, going slowly to avoid her eyes.

'It's better than I thought, too.' She liked the gentle pressure of his fingers on her chin, holding her face. Everything about him with warmth and security and solidness. She would do anything, everything, to see that she was that for him as well.

Love, thought Hermione, was knowing how far one would go for another person and not minding. She opened her eyes and kissed her husband on the mouth. He tasted of mint and warm, clean flesh. Anything, she told herself, and knew in her heart that it was true.

It took three days to sort through the memories Snape had got from Slughorn. Many of them turned out to be worthless, or else interesting but not relevant. To everyone's surprise, Bellatrix found herself acting as Snape's research assistant.

On the third day, she'd raised her head from the basin and rubbed her eyes, wiping the smears of black on her skirt. Snape was watching her; she could feel his eyes on her skin.

'Well?'

'Would you like a handkerchief?'

'Thank you, no.' She rubbed her temples with her fingertips, resolving to have her elf massage her tonight to help with the constant tension headache she'd developed since this started.

'Have you found anything else of use?'

She shook her head. 'Nothing. Yourself?'

'No.' Snape stood and started to pace. He had removed his robes, and so didn't billow like a bat. Bellatrix watched him, wondering what was going through his mind.

'It's rude to stare, Bellatrix.'

'You're one to talk.'

Snape was still moving. 'You looked peaky, Bellatrix. Are you ill?'

'It's been a long time since I've done this.'

He slowed down a bit. 'This is the easy part. We'll need to make sure the children are progressing as rapidly as possible in their Occluding.'

'Well, obviously.'

'I'm sending the dog to find out more information about his early life.' They both knew there could only be one 'he' in this. Bellatrix nodded. Sirius would be very good at that, she supposed.

'And the rest of us?'

'I want you all working to find ways to destroy them as we find them.' And only one 'them'. It was too dangerous, mostly, to say aloud. She stood up, bones aching. When had she got so old?

'Have you got any ideas about that?'

'I've got people on it.' Snape drew his wand as the Floo hissed, but it was only Gibbon.

'Severus, his lordship is having an attack of sour stomach. He wants you to come at once with something for it. Hello, Bellatrix.'

Bellatrix nodded. Snape's elf appeared with his bag and he stepped into the Floo without another word.

When he came back he looked like the kneazle who'd eaten the pixy. He called them all together and made sure the house was tightly sealed. 'I got a chance to legilimise him tonight.'

'And?' Bellatrix fought the temptation to hex the prat on general principle, and to hurry him along. Self important arse.

He explained what he had seen and what he thought they might need to do. The room was silent. Finally she could take it no longer.

'Open the Chamber of Secrets, Snape? Is that all?'


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**NB I: In the interests of showing the world as various characters see it, I have elected to be a touch experimental in this chapter. In doing so, I have flouted the rules of English a little for artistic effect. My apologies to Mssrs Strunck and White.**

**Specifically, the way this character relates to the world is shown through the way he perceives others using language. He is...not very nice, to put it mildly. Especially objectionable is the attitude toward another person's accent. Please see the bottom for a deeper explanation.**

**Also: If you're struggling to follow, I suggest reading it aloud. That might help.**

**NBII: His attitude toward the disabled is worse. This was incredibly hard for me, because, as a physically disabled person myself, I have run across this kind of thinking in real life. It's as disgusting and bigoted here as it there. (Again, see below.)**

**/parseltongue/-see below for a more indepth explanation.**

Anu padded barefoot down the corridor, clad in his nightshirt and a light dressing gown. He couldn't sleep. The air in the house had changed subtly since the professor had come to dinner. Hopefully, he would find someone to shed some light on things, or a snack if that failed.

There was a light burning in the parlour. He crept closer, seeing the door was open a hair. It was Snape, bent over a sheath of papers. Anu grinned, giving the door a gentle push. Snape was up at once, wand ready to attack. He showed himself.

_'*Hello, Professor.*'_

_'*Mr. Tamm. You will turn directly back and go straight to bed this instant.*'_

_'*I'm not sleepy.*'_

_'*I am sleepy.*'_

_'*I could stay up and help you.*'_

_'*Bed, Mr. Tamm.*'_

_'*Where's Salazar?*'_

_'*This will not work on me. Madam Krum often tried the same tactic when she was your age, and it worked no better for her.*'_

Anu thought if he keep Snape talking, he'd relent at some point. _'*Hermione liked to stay up too?*'_

_'*Perhaps someday I will tell you about it. When it is not nearly one o'clock in the morning, and I have not been researching all day.*'_

_'*I could help you research.*'_

_'*You do not read English.*'_

_'*I can take notes for you.*'_

_'*Mr. Tamm, this is not up for negotiation.*' _

Snape frowned, and Anu sort of wanted to please the man he hoped was going to be his father by obeying. On the other hand, if anyone knew why it was weird, it would be Snape.

_'*Professor, is something going on?*'_

_'*A great many things, I don't doubt.*' _

Snape was giving him a look, and Anu had to steel himself. It was quite a frightening look. Perhaps Snape would teach him once he had married Nene.

_'*No, I mean, everything seems sort of...off. What's wrong?*'_

Snape motioned at the divan. _'*Don't think you aren't going to bed directly after this.*'_

_'*No, sir.*'_

_'*There are some political considerations at play currently that are making everyone very tense.*'_

_'*You mean how those soldiers came the other night?*'_

_'*Aurors. And yes, like that.*'_

_'*Professor Slughorn, too?*'_

Snape tilted his head slightly. '*_What makes you ask, Tamm?*'_

Anu swung his feet a bit. _'*I don't think Viktor would have him about if he wasn't a political consideration, Professor. If it was just about learning English, Hermione or Drago could teach us.*'_

Snape seemed to like that answer. '_*Yes, that is part of it.*'_

_'*Your leader doesn't trust us.*'_

_'*No.*'_

_'*And he's supposed to. Not __**us**__, maybe, but Aunt Bellatrix and the Death Eaters.*_'

_'*Yes.*'_

_'*Is it because of what happened in December?*'_

Snape gestured to indicate...something. English body language was something Anu was still mastering.

_'*In part, but not as much as you'd think. It was rather the straw which broke the hippogiff's back.*'_

Anu nodded slowly. '*_Why did he say he wanted to allied to Bulgaria if he didn't?*'_

_'*Because he thought he'd never need to prove his friendship. It made him very angry when Bulgaria called on him for aid, and even angrier when his best servants wanted to give it.*'_

_'*That doesn't make sense.*'_

_'*No*' _agreed Snape, looking distant '_*it doesn't. He doesn't like for the focus to be anyone but himself.*'_

_'*He was angry because the Death Eaters were thinking about Bulgaria first and him second.*'_

_'*Precisely.*'_

It made a little more sense now to Anu. _'*He wants to prove we're spying on him because he doesn't want the Death Eaters anymore.*'_

_'*They've outlived their usefulness to him, yes.*'_

_'*Sir? Did you know he was a bad man when you signed up to serve him?*'_

Snape's face twisted, and for a second Anu was afraid he'd made the man angry. But it wasn't anger, after a second, if it had ever been. Rather, it looked more like sadness.

_'*Yes and no. He was honest about his beliefs, but dishonest in how he represented them. And I was less misled than most.*'_

_'*Can I help?*'_

Salazar, who'd been napping behind the divan, rose and loped to Snape's side, poking him with his nose. Anu scratched the dog's ears and was rewarded with a chuff of pleasure.

Snape looked sour, lips curling at the dog. '_*Go on, you wretched creature. If I should think of something, Tamm, I shall let you know.*' _

Anu figured he shouldn't press his luck, and let Salazar escort him to bed.

In another part of the house, Bellatrix was pacing, and Rodolphus was watching her. He wished he could get her to stop, because it made him nervous. She was too wound up, flailing her arms for emphasis. Rodolphus resigned himself to very little sleep and settled back in the chair in front of the fireplace, waiting for her to tire herself out.

'The Chamber of Secrets, he says! Why not just ask us to fly to the moon? And how are we supposed to do all this without attracting notice, hmm? Idiot! Greatest mind of his generation nothing!'

Rodolphus said nothing. His mind was working on the problem. Slowly, but with exceeding care, he parsed everything he knew about the situation. Finally he steepled his fingers and said gravely 'The Chamber is in Hogwarts.'

'Well, of course it is! Where else would Salazar Slytherin build it?'

'The Dark Lord is also in Hogwarts.'

'Stop stating the obvious, Rodolphus!'

'If we want the Chamber, the obvious place to start is there. Let's find a way to do that, shall we?'

'What do you suggest?' She slowed her pacing, glaring Druella like at him.

'We find an excuse to be there, is all. Something will present itself, don't you think?'

'Why yes, a convenient parselmouth will simply present themselves. Why don't we just advertise for one in the Prophet?'

'Bellatrix, we are veritably surrounded by Dark witches and wizards. You're really telling me you don't think we can find ancestor with the gift? Or who'll know someone who does have?'

'Well, unless you know of a portrait of Salazar Slytherin you've never mentioned, I don't know how it wouldn't have come up at some point.'

Rodolphus shrugged. 'If we could raise an army and fight a war with no help but Snape and the others, this should be easy.'

'Should be.'

Rodolphus put an arm about her shoulders. 'Darling, we must have faith. We will do this.'

Bellatrix nodded slowly. 'If we should not, and I die first, I shall haunt you, Rodolphus. Remember that.'

'You've been haunting me since I was fifteen, Bellatrix.'

'Arse.'

'I love you too.'

She scowled up at him, tiny and fierce, and Rodolphus felt a great hot swell of love for her. He bent and kissed her cheek. She let him, and then stepped away.

'Well, what are you waiting for?'

'Waiting for, love?'

'We haven't got all night, Rodolphus.'

Resigning himself to no sleep at all, he nodded, put on his slippers and went to find Snape, to decide how to begin.

The next morning, gibbon bowed his way into the presence of the Dark Lord earlier than usual. rodolphus lestrange, it would seem, had decided to write a history of his family line, and wanted to find portraits to interview.

The Dark Lord shrugged. 'his father was Our beloved servant. It is meet he should be remembered.' He waited for gibbon to explain himself a bit more.

gibbon looked nervous. 'That's all, My Lord.'

'Have rodolphus bring them here. The girl and her husband. We should like to know more about their plans. And the others-the malfoys and their son and snape.'

'barty as well?'

'We suppose it can't be helped.' If He had to tolerate a few hours of the idiot, He would do, if not happily. More generally, keepings one's friends close, and potential traitors closer was the Dark Lord's motto. He wasn't totally sure which the lestranges and malfoys were, but He was taking no chances.

gibbon nodded, bowing his way out, and then went to make arrangements. The Dark Lord settled back, waiting. This body had grown somewhat less inconvenient with time, but there were still limitations. And annoyances. He reached down and brushed against Himself, feeling a spike of pleasure that irked and confused Him. His old body had been free of these troublesome urges and desires for foreign flesh.

They arrived in record time, at least. Had they been waiting His summons? He rather hoped so. It made Him think they still had a bit of loyalty left, some use in them. Perhaps.

The lumpish, shuffling bulgarian looked even more ox-like in English style dress. We ought to prohibit it for any but Our subjects, He thought, and forced Himself to allow the fool to press his massive hand against the Dark Lord's own.

The girl was different. Small and fragrant, she smiled at him, shy as a doe. His body reacted to it, and the touch of her hand as He raised it to His mouth. It was not, He suspect, the girl, but any girl, and every girl. He would never pollute His body with another's man leavings, anyway.

nagini slithered forth and reared up, sniffing the newcomers. She slid to rabastan, who was holding his son, and stared unblinkingly at them for a moment.

/this is man-young/

/yes/

/nagini holds it/

/yes do not eat it/

/nagini needs no food/

/its life keeps the sire loyal/

/nagini does not eat man-young/

/good/

'rabastan, let nagini see the baby. She is curious.'

rabastan went green. 'M-My lord. My Lord, edric-edric-'

'Now, rabastan.'

The girl darted to her uncle's side. 'Please, uncle, i wanted to visit with nagini anyway. May i take edric with me? i'd like that.'

Numbly, rabastan handed over the baby. The girl sat down on the floor heedless of decorum, and the Dark Lord saw the curve of her ankle, the hint of a knee. His body was on fire. What was this? Was this what lesser men felt?

nagini coiled about the girl, head on her leg so she could sniff the baby. It was making little noises that might have meant anything, and reached fearlessly for the snake, poking her nose with it's fingers, eyes wide.

/it is small/

/very small/

/it smells good fresh warm/

/do not eat it/

/no/

She coiled more tightly, tail lashing a little, tongue flicking across the baby's face and head. The girl sat very still. He could see her pulse in her throat. nagini noticed it as well, and she reared back, grapefruit-sized eyes like vast gold coins in her head.

/it is the man-females young/

/no her sires brood-mate/

/nagini would take the man-young/

/to eat/

/ to raise/

/nagini is a snake/

/ young is young/

/it would not work/

/nagini keeps the young warm/

/the youngling is a wizard/

/nagini feeds the young tender goats and sheep/

/nagini keeps it until no sun/

/yes/

The snake uncoiled herself and waited expectantly. '_*vicereine, nagini would like to keep the infant a while. She will not harm him.*_'

The girl's pulse beat faster in her throat, but she carefully laid it in the snake's coils. nagini gently tightened until the baby was snug in her grasp and slithered toward a corner, hissing with contentment. rabastan and his wife looked ready to faint.

Having shown His erring flock who was firmly in control, the Dark Lord motioned the others to sit. The bulgarian was watching him with dark, unreadable eyes. Was it true, the Dark Lord wondered idly, that the father had gone mad?

Well, no matter. 'They tell Us, rodolphus, you mean to write a history of your family.'

rodolphus was watching the snake and the baby, transfixed like a prey animal himself. At his name, his head snapped round. 'Yes, My Lord. Starting with jehan l'estrange in 1021.'

'How interesting. vicereine, your grandfather was one of Our earliest and best supporters, did you know that?'

'Yes, My Lord.'

'snape tells Us you've read Our letters to him, is that correct?'

'The lord protector and I, yes, My Lord.'

'How charming. Perhaps you would favour Us with a recitation, lord protector?'

The boy's thick face moved. His eyes, as dull as a sheep's, met the Dark Lord's a second. He seemed fearless, but had the Dark Lord not faced brave men before, and killed them? Surely this was no different. If he was smarter, he would fear. It was to the Dark Lord's benefit he not be smart.

'Uf corze, Meye Lort. Vhere shute i starrt?*

'Oh, anywhere, surely.'

'"Letter zix, from the Darg Lort to achillez leztrainch. "Ve hobe this let-ter fintz you vell. To contin-you our converr-za-tion, it is im-pozz-ible to conceaf of a vorld vhere blot pu-rri-ty iz not the ut-mo-ast of haour con-searns. The pew-rri-ty and ster-rrength of Vizarding blot is the ger-atest chal-lench of haour aich."'

That accent made Him cringe, but the Dark Lord was flattered all the same. It was obvious the girl, at least, had inherited her father's ideological purity, and skill at teaching others.

'Excellent, lord protector. Tell me, do you agree?'

'My Lort, it is ob-vee-us that your lortszhip is verry vell ret. I liked verry mutch the parra-lelles to leszszer Dio-nysis of Phocis. Pair-sonally, I am more vorried abowt prrotekting Bull-gaar-ia from extern-ale thrreats to haour stability, not az mutch the intern-ale.'

'Threats like Romania?'

'Yez, them moast uf awl. They are not frints to either uf haour countrees.'

'That's certainly true. How do you plan to deal with them?'

'i shute hobe they vill szee szenze szoon. The dazs of ebery countree for themzelves iz done naow. Ve must all tearn to one another or faice ruin.'

'Quite so. Severus tells Us you have quite a set up going. A factory to produce water bags, I understand?'

'Yez, Meye Lort. Ve haff a laity overszeeing the elfs in the mayking uf bagz for ex-port.'

'Export to where, We wonder?'

'Vhichever countree neets haour bagz. Manny countrees are vorried and vish to be prepairt in case there iz a prroblem.'

'And you are anticipating many problems?'

The bulgarian shook his head no. 'i am hopto-mees-tic that things haff seddled down for hat lest a few dekates.'

'We share your optimism, surely. It must be hard for such a poor country, repairing all the damage and refilling the treasury.'

The girl smiled. 'My Lord, what we lack in material assets we more than make up for in spirit. Bulgaria is quite rich in natural resources, as well.'

'Oh? We had not heard that.'

The boy was nodding. 'Ve haff golt, fish, tember, stone, natcheral beeuty and hart vorkers. That is enuf for usz.'

'How inspiring. Do you expect the work rebuilding will be done within your own lifetimes?'

'Ve antisipade it vill be done in fife years or szo, vith luck.'

'Five years?'

'Ve are blest by an abundance of very motifaded people, Meye Lort. That vill make awl the differonce.'

'We quite agree. It behoves Our great countries to continue in friendship and amity, don't you think?'

Both children were smiling. 'Your Lordship, we could not agree more.'

'Ve vanted to make the sznake a ge-ift to Yourszelf for that verry reaszon.'

'And We made you a gift of Our dear horace slughorn. He was Our own teacher when We were the same ages as yourselves.'

'Ve are awl the moor honert, then.'

The Dark Lord motioned at an elf, who handed out goblets of wine. 'Do you not worry, lord protector, about the purity of Bulgarian blood when it comes to the polyglots you've generously extended your welcome to?'

The boy sipped wine. 'No, Meye Lort. Haour familly is polyglot asz vell, aftter awl. Bull-gaar-ia opensz hair armz to any villink to vork hard and helb usz.'

'Your cousin miss krum, she is engaged to an albanian, is that right?'

'She isz engatched to mr. tamm.' He gestured to the one eyed boy that followed the malfoy lad about. The Dark Lord crooked a finger and the cripple came closer, face pink.

_'*Word of your bravery reached Us after the battle. you are young for such courage, even as We were at your age.*'_

_'*Thank You, Your Lordship. i was well taught.*'_

_'*Slughorn tells Us your English progresses apace. Study well, and perhaps someday you will as accomplished a Dark wizard as your inlaws.*'_

_'*i would like that.*' _

The boy's eyes were nailed to the carpet, but his shoulders were straight. His eye patch gleamed. The Dark Lord's stomach curled in revulsion at being so close to a cripple. There was something **unwholesome **about maimed people, something hateful and foreign.

Still, needs must is needs must. The Dark Lord leant over and clapped the scrawny shoulder. The boy's head came up. His good eye was flat and remote, like krum's. The Dark Lord wanted to pull away, to keep the skin crawling touch of the cripple's dirty, twisted flesh from his.

_'*What is it you would most like to do, mr. tamm? What do you dream of?*'_

The boy's voice was distant. _'*To serve albanian and our family, My Lord.*'_

_'*In what capacity?*'_

_'*As the captain of a ship.*' _

The Dark Lord bit his tongue. The very idea of a cripple doing a thing like that! How impudent! Everyone knew cripples lived on the charity and sufferance of their betters. The boy was fortunate krum hadn't decided he was a useless mouth by now.

Of course, he was no doubt of some small utility in propaganda, but really, letting a creature like this command whole men? Absurd sentiment, exactly what one would expect of slavs and other such inferior specimens of Wizarding kind.

_'*Does albania have a navy?*'_

_'*Not yet, My Lord.*'_

_'*How interesting.*' _

The Dark Lord was attempting to find a way to shoo the cripple back to his seat when barty did it for him. '_*My Lord, may anu and I go and pet your snake? She's very beautiful.*'_

_'*Go on, barty.*' _

He waved at barty, who half dragged the cripple to where nagini was still coiling with the baby. The baby seemed to like being with the snake. It was making some obnoxious sound, arms waving.

The girl, too, seemed interested. 'It strikes Us, vicereine, the affinity between nagini and yourself.'

'She's fascinating to me, My Lord.'

'How droll. Should you like to accompany her about the grounds? We would imagine you children would like a break from politics.'

The girl and her bulgarian rose, with the malfoy lad in tow. Making their manners, they all drifted off. Nagini was leading, carrying the baby in her coils as she went. The Dark Lord looked at His people and was well pleased.

'Now, tell Us more about this project, rodolphus.'

The castle was exactly as Draco remembered it. Hermione too, from the look on her face. They dared not speak much in front of Nagini, even in Bulgarian. Not that Draco spoke Bulgarian, but they could always tell him later. On the other hand, might silence seem weird as well? He decided it would.

_'*Hermione, do you remember the day the ceiling malfunctioned and it rained inside?*'_

_'*In the Great Hall? It was terrible. The food got soaked.*'_

_'*Shall we show everyone? It was always my favourite part of the building.*'_

Nagini apparently understood, because she changed courses, Edric tightly wrapped in her tail. She was somehow levering herself along, managing to glide whilst keeping the baby upright. Edric liked it; he was flailing and giggling, cheeks pink with excitement.

The Hall was deserted. The students were presumably elsewhere for the visit, or the school year had changed since Draco went here. First year seemed like a dream to him, like it had happened to someone else.

The sky above them, like the real thing, was a gentle blue, filled with fluffy white clouds. Anu and Viktor were suitably impressed and Barty, overjoyed at having seen his master, was chattering jubilantly, unable to stand still.

_'*Draco, let's go and see the Slytherin Common Room, shall we?*'_

Draco wanted nothing less. He didn't like being here. Hogwarts was full of ghosts for him. Potter, for one, Potter as he had been. His own eleven year old self, when life had been normal and sane. His old friends, old pleasures and struggles. Life before war and peace. Life before the Dark Lord.

He chanced to look at Hermione. She was ashen, staring fixedly at the dais, clutching a table. Draco nudged Viktor, who caught her arm. _'*Herm-on-nee-knee, you are all vright?*'_

_'*Fine, fine. I just need to sit down a moment.*' _

An elf appeared with water and Hermione drained the whole cup. From above, Rinky made himself known and stared worriedly at his mistress, twisting a corner of towel in his hands.

_'*Should I send for Aunt Trixie?*' _Draco would have Viktor carry her to the Infirmary, if it came to that. He wasn't about to let his cousin make herself sick through stubbornness.

_'*No! I mean, no, really, I just felt dizzy a second. My shoes are too tight.*'_

Draco thought that excuse both quite novel and totally false, but he could hardly call the Vicereine of Bulgaria (or any lady) a liar in public, so he nodded. Viktor bent closer and mumbled something in Bulgarian, to which she shook her head.

_'*Barty, why don't you send Rinky to ask his lordship if you and Draco and Anu could go and look at the dorms? I'd like a breath of fresh air. Perhaps we could meet by the clump of beeches in twenty minutes?*'_

The Dark Lord offered his consent, and the group split up, with Nagini following Hermione, Edric still firmly in tow. Draco shepherded the others to the Slytherin dorm, wondering how to help.

Outside, the group walked about a bit. The sunlight, which was awfully cool for June, was nonetheless pleasant, and the snake found a large flat rock and curled up on it, coiled protectively about the baby, who, strangely, promptly fell asleep himself, arms about the snake's coil.

The giant squid, too, was sunning, and he raised a leg in greeting and floated lazily to the middle of the lake. Anu's eyes were like saucers. '*_Is that a squid?*'_

'_*Certainly is. He's quite friendly.*' _Draco found the thing disgusting, but it was harmless, to be sure, so he didn't worry much when Anu went and sat on a rock, watching interestedly.

Barty was calmer outside, either because there was less stimulus or because Hermione's abrupt change had snapped him back. He stared over the lake with Draco in silence for some minutes.

'Draco?'

'Yes, Barty?'

'It's awfully good to be here. Isn't it?'

'It is. Nothing here changes, does it?'

'Everything changes, Draco. But sometimes for the better.'

Barty seemed to be deeply thinking, and Draco, respecting that, left him to his thoughts. Anu was lying on his belly, watching the squid, who had paddled over to inspect him. A leg as long as most houses slowly emerged and a sucker the size of a serving tray was gently examining Anu's hair.

'I didn't know Viktor had read the Letters.'

'He learnt English from them.'

'That's good. Do you suppose Hermione is all right?'

'Her shoes are too tight, is all.'

'Draco, that was an excuse.'

Barty's voice was gently explanatory. Draco forced his face into neutrality, like Snape's. How much did Barty understand? What did he **see** when he looked at things?

'I imagine she saw some frightening things during the battle here.'

Barty nodded. 'Probably. We should have skipped the Hall.'

'Next time we will.'

'Snape said Viktor needed to face his feelings about Martin. Do you suppose it would be better if we helped Hermione do the same? We'd be there the whole time.'

'Ask Snape first, Barty. She might feel embarrassed if she thinks we know.'

'She didn't do anything wrong. The Order attacked us.'

'Were you here for that, Barty?'

Barty shook his head, shaggy hair bouncing. 'No. But I heard all about it. And that's how those people are, Draco.'

'I know.'

'That's true.' Barty looked round. 'Draco?'

'Hmmm?'

'Do you suppose it would be all right for us to gather some flowers? The ladies would like that, I think.'

'I'm sure they would.' So that's what they did, as Edric napped with a snake, Viktor and Hermione sat together silently, and Anu made the acquaintance of a giant squid.

At home, the flowers arranged in a place of honour on the mantle and every bedroom (there were loads of them, and the elves had happily shown them where the best ones grew, and donated some from the herb garden as well), the group went their separate ways until dinner, which would be late as they hadn't come back from Scotland until after dark.

Hetty Gill Feathering had seen how strange her niece looked and had a subtle word with Eugenia. The ladies waited until they saw Viktor and Anu repairing to the parlour with Slughorn for lessons to go to the Master bedroom and knock on the door. Hermione bid them inside and they closed the door behind themselves and joined Hermione in the big bed.

'What happened today?'

'I, ah, was thinking about what happened that day, is all.'

Hetty reached over and stroked her niece's hair lightly. 'You don't feel sick anywhere else? Do your bubs hurt, for instance? Or your stomach is upset at odd times?'

'No. No, I took a test before we left Bulgaria. Every phial's good for a month.'

'Should we have Snape test you anyway?'

'Yes, if you'd like. But really, it wasn't so bad.'

Eugenia leant over and took Hermione's hand. 'Do you want to talk about what you saw? It's all right, you know. We won't tell anyone.'

Hermione sat up and asked her elf for her shawl. The elf brought it and she bundled warmly. 'I was in the dorms...'

As their niece talked, Hetty found herself watching Eugenia. She seemed to get paler as the story progressed, until Hermione got to the part about the auror.

'One of them said "Shite, it's Dawlish." He was, he was dead and the blood was everywhere, all over me. I could smell it and then tugged me over the age line and ran off and the wolves were eating people...'

Eugenia was white as paste, sitting totally still. Hermione stopped. 'Aunt Gennie? Are you all right?'

She seemed to shake it off. 'I'm fine, love. I didn't realised you'd seen such a thing, is all. Come here.' She opened her arms, and Hermione leant into the hug. Hetty did as well, and the two women held their niece between them, determined to help her drive out the spectre of what she'd seen.

Hermione whispered something. When Gennie asked her to repeat it, she straightened up. 'Scabior. He stabbed the auror. I was...he used to make me feel...he's all right now, but it was awful.'

Hetty's stomach lurched. Dear God, Lem, what did you do? Eugenia looked very little better, and Hetty came to a conclusion. She immediately decided it was irrelevent. Whatever had been between Eugenia and the auror, it was past. She was Hetty Feathering, and not a whore, and Eugenia was Eugenia Lestrange and not whatever else. Who and what they'd been before was not the point.

They finally settled Hermione in for a rest under a warm blanket and tiptoed out. Hetty gently tugged Eugenia into a sheltered alcove and warded it so there would be no sound. Then she faced her sister in law, heart aching for them, for all of them.

'I'm so sorry, my darling. I really, truly am. Neither of you should've gone through that just now.' She hugged Eugenia just as she had Hermione, and let her purge her pain and grief.

After she'd got Eugenia to her own room, under her own blanket, Hetty squared her shoulders. She'd be damned before this hurt anyone else she loved if she could help it. She went and found Snape, who was sipping whiskey and reading the paper. She waited until he looked up to speak.

'What can I do to help?'

He looked at her levelly. 'Help, Miss Gi-Madam Feathering?'

'You know precisely what I mean.'

'Indeed I do.'

'Well?'

'We'll see.' Snape had a speculative, distant look on his face. Then he brought his head up, smiling creepily.

'Madam Feathering, how would you like to take some exercise tomorrow?'

'Exercise?'

'A walk round the lake, perhaps.'

'Lake, sir?'

'The lake at Hogwarts, of course.'

**Spoiler A/N:**

**Q: Why is Viktor's accent so much thicker all the sudden?**

**A: It isn't. The DL doesn't like foreigners, so he notices every minor deviation from what he's used to. Most people take it for granted that Viktor isn't going to sound just like a native speaker. And he's perfectly comprehensible in English. The DL is just being a jerk about it.**

**Q: What's up with Parseltongue?**

**A: I thought it would be sort of cool to experiment with the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis (the idea that language directly shapes thought). Snakes are not human, so their language is meant to express that very clearly and directly. Their whole world view is totally different, so their language is as well.**

**Q:You're disabled?**

**A: Yep. The one shot 'Sum of the Stars' deals with it in more depth.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**A close friend of mine (who reads the story) is having a serious family emergency. Any prayers, kind thoughts, good intentions, etc would be greatly appreciated. **

**For those of you who like the Sirius/Snape conversation, I suggest reading the fabulous essays written by Whitehound about the same subjects. She has enormous insight into Snape's character, and reading some of the things she suggested might be true helped me to see things from a more nuanced (dare I say Slytherin?) perspective. **

** As we all know, only a very Slytherin perspective would gain Snape's approval. Who was I to refuse?**

Rita Skeeter was, as Draco had observed, indeed miserable, today especially. She finished her article, capped her inkwell, and rose, sticking her feet back into her pumps (electric blue manticore hide, to match her robes), picking up her copy to bring the editor.

He smiled. 'Well, Ree, what've we got?'

'It was quite a good interview, Nigel. That Mr. Goyle is quite an interesting bloke.'

'I've that impression. You're sure everything is set up for tonight, now?'

She nodded, her stomach feeling like it was being squeezed, a ball of wax in the hands of a giant. 'I'm to meet Phidippedes Limpkin at four thirty. He'll take me to the meeting place.'

'Where is that, again?'

'The townhouse. They'll all be there.'

Nigel nodded. 'You did a bang-up job in January with them, you know.'

'It was a good assignment.' She'd said variations on it so often, it almost seemed true sometimes. Nigel looked away from her, seeming to find the carpet absorbing for a few seconds.

'Yes, well, don't worry too much about the deadline, all right? We can always run it Sunday, rather than Friday.'

'Thanks, Nigel. I need to go and get changed, all right?'

Nigel nodded. 'Say hello to Travers for me.'

'I will. See you tomorrow.'

The flat was quiet. She kicked off her shoes and started shedding clothing. One thing one could see for Metellus, his elf was a dream. She appeared at once and took everything to the hamper, silently efficient. Rita was glad; the last she wanted right now was to confront another thinking being.

She took a hot bath, did her hair, and dressed in dark, conservative robes. She knew she should dress in something very slightly slutty-she had her disguises, and they their expectations-but she couldn't.

Swiping on some lipstick, she picked up her bag and started to the door. It opened, and Metellus grinned at her, clearly surprised to have found her at home. 'Well, hello, love.'

'Hello, Metellus. How was your day?'

'Fine. Off to do the interview, are you?'

'I am.'

'Good, good. Say, how would you feel about dinner at the Unicorn tonight? Late, I mean, the Lestranges'll offer you something, I'm sure.'

Why was he being so generous and expansive? She made herself smile. 'Sounds lovely. Is today my birthday?'

'No, but it might well be mine.'

She raised an expensively, professionally arched brow and he beamed like a child with a secret. 'His Lordship has given me special charge of a project.'

'Oh?'

'This is my chance, Ree, you'll see. Great things are happening, I tell you. Great things.' He grinned a trifle moonily and pecked her cheek. He smelt of too much cologne and whatever he'd had for lunch. She forced herself to kiss him back.

'Ten o'clock?'

'Sounds good. Make sure not to let on, Rita. This is strictly between you and me.'

'Quite so, love.'

Rita donned her silver fox fur and went to the meeting place, wondering what Travers was up to, and whether he was as abominably stupid as he acted.

Limpkin's mild, mousy face, mostly hidden behind his huge spectacles, lit up on seeing her. She let him kiss her hand, biting back a shiver. He'd been dismembering number thirteen when they caught him. Rita suspected he was picturing how her limbs would look strewn about the boarding-house where he lived.

'Madam, Lestrange asks you permit me to Apparate you directly. As you know, the safety of the Lord Protector and Vicereine, Lestrange's beloved daughter, is the most important consideration.'

'Naturally.' Rita also knew that aurors periodically found gruesomely cut up bits, and did nothing, so long as they weren't people who'd be missed. If she had to guess, she'd put his current score in the triple digits.

Limpkin seized her hand and she gripped him. His hands were dry and soft. He smelt of cloves, like tooth-ache remedy. And something underneath, metallic, old, salty. She'd sick up if she had to touch him a second longer, she'd-

Her shoes clattered on the entryway of the house. She pulled back, feigning light-headedness. Limpkin gently righted her and waited silently for Llewellyn Rice to come to them. Rice had risen in the world thanks to Lestrange's patronage, Rita knew; where did he and the Snatchers stand now that Lestrange was in bad standing? Were they still his men, or the Dark Lord's? Or some unknown third party?

Rice was shorter than Limpkin, and not as mild. His handsome, unreliable face was fixed in a mask of bland courtesy. She'd once paid an auror an obscene amount for photos of his work. She blinked the image of staring, blood-shot eyes in swollen purple faces from her mind and let him make his manners.

'Madam, it is a pleasure. I will need your purse and shoes, as always.'

She let him scan both and then slipped back into her shoes. Limpkin was watching with eyes as big and brown as a cow's. She could see a fleck of blood under one of his nails. Oh, God, God.

They received her in the Master bedroom, as before. This time they showed her into the dressing room, where several chairs had been conveniently placed for their use. Aside from the lad and the Lestrange girl, Bellatrix was there, curled catlike in her chair. Her sister, too, and the sister's son, Malfoy's heir.

'Madam Skeeter, how good to see you.'

'And yourself, Vicereine. Lord Protector, how are you?'

'Vell, Madam. Qvite vrested, after such a good holiday.' He smiled slightly, rough-hewn face twisting to make him seem nearly handsome. The Malfoy lad was quiet, watching her intently.

The door opened and a boy she remembered to be either Anu Tamm or Tamm Anu something came in. He wore an eyepatch and a suspicious look, and was leading Snape's huge mongrel. He took up a seat next to Malfoy Jr, hands in his lap.

'The people of Wizarding Britain are so grateful you've taken the time to speak to me. How are you enjoying your stay? I regret how awful the weather's been.'

'It's a pleasant change for us. Bulgaria's having quite a hot spring.'

'Is it?'

The Lord Protector smiled wryly. 'Believe it or not, ve do have the sun in Bulgaria.'

'My lord, really. Madam Skeeter's seen it herself.' The girl was smiling, and he smiled back, nodding to agree. Rita had to admit, if they didn't adore one another, it was a damned good show.

'Of course, but ve cannot convince the vorld our country is not all ice and snow.'

'That's certainly true.'

'Madam, you know Anu Tamm, don't you?'

'Of course. *_Mr. Tamm, how good to see you again.*'_

_'*And yourself, Madam Skeeter.*'_

'_*Professor Slughorn says you're quite the cleverest student he's ever had.*_' Slughorn was Metellus's great-uncle, and she had to endure the occasional interminable dinner with him.

'_*Surely he's being polite, madam.*'_

Malfoy or whoever had taught the kid well, but there was something creepily at odds between his conventionally polite remarks and his hard, one-eyed stare. He might be small, but she wagered he would be someone to fear in a few decades. Then again, if he was part of these people, he was someone to fear right now.

She nodded, still smiling, and moved into the rest of the interview. She couldn't have cared less about any of it. She wished she could ask them the real questions, the ones that had been brewing in her mind for months.

Do you see them die as you sleep? You sent them to their deaths, even as I did. So do you? Do you see them burn, girl? Do you see your wolves swarming their walls and ripping them to sheds? Your dogs savaging them? Scabior looting the bodies?

Because I do. Every time I close my eyes, I see those aurors I helped kill. Every time he kisses me, it tastes of corpses.

But of course she couldn't say that, and so she asked about fashions and frolics, just as the readers wanted.

At Hogwarts, Snape was grinding his teeth. Hard, almost audibly. He made himself relax his jaw. 'But my lord, it would be so gracious of you.'

'We shan't receive him, Severus. Our mind is quite made up. We need to go to Wales like it is, and Feathering displeased Us most grievously when he permitted British students to join that fool's crusade.'

'He knows it, my lord, and craves most humbly a chance to regain your lordship's grace and favour. His dear wife confided to Narcissa she prays nightly you'll deign to name their new baby.'

Ego flattered, the Dark Lord turned from the window. 'Does she?'

'She does, my lord. Madam Feathering couldn't feel more bereft about this.'

'Feathering himself?'

'Even worse. He wants so much to serve your lordship.'

'He has not asked for Our input on the curriculum of Durmstrang.'

'Their governors are not advanced enough to understand the greatness of your lordship's thought. He did what he could with Krum and Malfoy Jr.'

'Of course. Malfoy Jr is doing his part as well?'

'Every day. That Albanian practically worships him.'

'As he ought to. Still, better an Albanian cripple than another filthy Slav.'

'Exactly so, my lord.'

'We will consider it. In the meantime, it would please Us to test their loyalty.'

'How so, my lord?'

'Nagini, you will accompany Snape to Grimmauld Place and stay whilst We are gone. Nagini, as faithful as she is to Us, will attract too much attention in Wales.'

'Wales, my lord?'

'We've decided that if Krum is to have an army of savages, it is only meet that We access what We have in that direction. If he should try to threaten Us, we will meet him on the field of battle, claw to claw, as it were.'

'And triumph, surely, my lord.'

'Triumph, yes. Be sure the lout knows that, Severus.'

'With every fibre of his being, my lord.'

'Excellent. And We've been looking into making sure of things. A sort of ultimate weapon.'

'I do not follow, my lord.'

'It is enough you trust Us, Severus.'

'Of course, my lord. Does your lordship's snake understand English?'

'Enough.'

'Might I impose on your lordship to ask her not to eat Madam Krum's cat? Or the boy's dog? They're fond of them.'

'You've some mongrel dog, haven't you, Snape? Your familiar?'

'I have, my lord. Salazar.'

'Cheeky of you, naming him after our honoured ancestor. Very well.' He hissed at the snake, and the snake hissed back.

'The pets are quite safe. Do see she eats, Severus. She might not be able to restrain herself if she does not.'

'I will, my lord. My lord, another favour?'

'What is it?'

'It might behove us all if we were able to monitor what magic Bellatrix and Rodolphus teach the girl. By your lordship's leave, I would borrow some books from the Restricted Section. My theory is not equal to theirs.'

'Take anything you'd like, Severus. Have they taught the girl much?'

'No, my lord, but I doubt Bellatrix will be able to control herself much longer.'

'Quite. Make sure Slughorn knows to keep track. We would know what they know.'

'I will tell Horace directly, my lord.'

'Excellent. Thank you, Severus.' Snape bowed himself out, having been dismissed.

He supplemented the books with some from the false-Mulciber, and so it was some hours later, having delivered the snake to Grimmauld Place and retrieved Black (the snake could sniff him out, else) the two of them retired to the attic in order to start looking for anything that might be of help.

The attic looked like a sterile potions laboratory. Every surface was shielded or charmed to prevent Dark magic seeping into it. The men donned heavy smocks, gloves of thin, tough dragon's hide and goggles charmed to prevent the magic from entering their brains via the eyes.

Mippy set down the parcel false-Mulciber had sent them. It was seven, fittingly, all bound innocuously in leather. Snape's skin was burning, but burning with cold. He could see his breath in the room, and he had a painful erection, one that spoke more of agony than any sort of erotic pleasure.

'Ready, Black?'

'Ready. Are you?'

'No.'

Snape opened the book he'd selected and started to read. He almost felt sorry about having to expose Black-who was faintly green in the face-to all this. Almost. Still, needs must is needs must. He started in, feeling his body breathing in the Dark. And liking it. He forced himself not to embrace the feeling. You must not fall, he chanted to himself, you must not fall.

Hours later, Sirius was curled up on the divan, head on paws. He felt dirty. His head hurt, even with the strong pain potion Snape had dosed him with. The thought of eating made him want to his sensitive dog's nose, the whole house stank abominably of something rotten and horribly, vitally alive.

Snape came back in, shedding his wellingtons and handing the dirt caked plants to the elf to clean. 'Change back, I'll have what you need soon enough.'

Sirius did. He sat up, feeling transparent, known to the eyes of the world and filthy for it, stained soul on display. Mippy was shirring softly as he brought out a large mug of tisane.

'Drink it, Black. All of it.'

It tasted noxious, but as it entered him, it helped. The cold feeling faded, replaced by numb warmth. Nothing mattered. It was all so far away now...

Snape's cold, bony hand closed on the back of his neck, shaking briskly. 'No. Fight it.'

'All right.' His head was clearing. Sirius handed the mug back to Mippy, the room swimming into something like normal focus as Snape took up his usual place in the chair nearest the fire.

'Well, Black, how did you like your first real taste of Dark magic?'

'How-I-why did you start with this? You're **smarter** than that.'

Snape shrugged. 'It's not about intelligence, Black. Smart people often make stupid choices.'

'Don't give me that. I'm not Hermione.'

'No, she's got manners.'

'And the Black hair, poor kid. Really, why did you?'

'Why did you?'

'Why did I what?'

'Fall in with a loathsome swot like Potter and that fawning little toady Pettigrew and Lupin the wolf?'

Sirius blinked. 'They weren't Death Eaters! They never did that!'

'Except Pettigrew, perhaps.'

'He's not that smart.'

'True. Tell me, Black, is what I did at that age really any worse than what you were doing?'

'You were a baby Death Eater, Snape. That-those things-' Sirius gestured upstairs and Snape shook his head, mouth twisted.

'That's one part of it. Tell me, Black, when Crouch said aurors could use Unforgivables, did you go and protest it?'

'No. No, of course not. By then they were playing for keeps, Snape.'

'And you were not? None of your people ever escalated the conflict for no reason? Never used deadly force where something less would have done?'

'I didn't say that.'

'You've still not answered me, Black. What attracted you to Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew?'

Sirius thought. 'James could be a lot of fun. He was smart, too. He knew things. And Remus was good at lessons. Peter...'

'Yes?'

'He just wouldn't leave us alone. We sort of adopted him as a mascot, I suppose.'

'Bollocks. You tormented him and tormented him, and finally he started to do what you asked of him so you'd leave him alone. Admit it, Black.'

'Fine, all right? Fine! We were little bastards, I've said as much before, but dammit, Snape, we never...never...'

'Donned robes and a mask, Black. That's the difference.'

'It's not either. Don't lecture me about being disingenuous when you're doing it too.'

'What I am being disingenuous about?'

'Look at what these people have done and tell me it was what I was doing.'

'All right. I allied myself to a monster, that is true. I did it for power, and acceptance, and because I wanted what he could give me. He's done terrible things, to be sure. I've never denied that.'

'Nor do I deny having been complicit in the atrocities committed by those closest to me. I was fully aware that the Lestranges meant to take Lucullus Brown in order to avenge Evan and did nothing to stop it. I was present at better than fifty revels, the centrepiece of which was the torture of muggles or captives, and did nothing to help, even if I did not wield the wand myself.'

'I did not know they meant to attack the Longbottoms, and if I had, I cannot say I might have tried to prevent that, either. I like to think I would-I was growing disenchanted by it all then-but who can say with certainty what our past selves might have done?'

'I also directly invented, or helped to invent, spells and potions classified as illegal and proscribed by the Ministry that was. Evan and I created the brain embolism hex, the spine melting jinx, the heart attack hex, and several dozen others that maimed or killed God knows how many.'

'On top of that, I have ruthlessly, and in full knowledge of what I was doing, sacrificed human beings to further my ends. Some of them were children, or non-combatants, or innocents, but many were not. I taught the girl to do the same and do it well, and I sleep at night the sleep of the just, which I have not earnt in the slightest. This is what I have done.'

'You, Black, opted to join with people who did much the same whilst wearing a mask of righteousness. Albus Dumbledore was my friend, but he was also a manipulative, scheming man who happily ignored or condoned things he felt were not worth his time to stop.'

'He gave Potter to those muggles, knowing full well what they were and how they'd felt about Lily, God rest her. He chose to keep employing Slughorn in the knowledge he was a dangerous predator with means, motive and opportunity to indulge. He favoured his own students to the degree that he did not so much as scold the three of you-I exclude the werewolf because even I must needs acknowledge he was not in control of his facilities when he and I met that night- despite the fact you would have killed two students, Lupin and myself, with your little prank.'

'Crouch Sr was a grasping opportunist who used the aurors in the Ministry's employ to his own ends. In his desire to seem hard on crime, he deliberately encouraged fanatics like Mad Eye and glory-seekers like Brown to use as much force as possible, which caused a relatively low key, wizard only conflict to explode into a civil war that killed how many innocent people, including his own?'

'On top of that, neither man was above letting one of his get destroyed rather than allow himself to seem merely human. How many people went to Azkaban because a trial might reveal some mistake Crouch had made? How many did Albus sacrifice to what he so grandly termed the Greater Good? Whose good, Black? Not yours. Not mine. Not Harry Potter's.'

Sirius listened, shocked and opened-mouth, to Snape's whole tirade. He finally brought his teeth together with a click, trying to wrap his brain about what Snape had said.

'You really believe that, don't you? That they're two sides of the same coin.'

'Because they **are**, Black. You don't want to see it because you had a privileged place in Dumbledore's Inner Circle, just as I have-had- in the other's.'

'But objectively speaking, surely you see a difference between what Dumbledore was doing and the things the other was-'

'A difference, Black? Can you explain how it's different when your side did than mine?'

'You admitted you were developing proscribed spells and potions.'

'Were we? Yes, of course. But those spells were disabling, not fatal. Not one hundred percent of the time, like an Avada is. Not with treatment. Except, of course, Crouch issues orders to leave the fallen to pursue fleeing Death Eaters, didn't he?'

'You're trying to tell me that a heart attack jinx is some sort of altrustic gesture?'

'Not at all. I'm saying, get off that Gryffindor high hippogriff of yours and see things as they really are.'

'He employs people like Walden Mcnair, for God's sake. Not to mention Greyback.'

'And your dear cousins? You might have all sorts of cuddly memories of the Lestranges and Lucius Malfoy, but you know damned well you're a minority of one.'

'Dumbledore never would have let people like those-'

'He didn't need to. He had the Ministry at his beck and call. I have nothing against Alastor Moody-I admire his skill deeply-but he was half mad even then, a dangerous fanatic of the first order. You know that because he was your friend.'

'Mad Eye? Yeah, he had his moments. But you can't honestly expect to compare Greyback to Alastor and expect the comparison to hold.'

'Why not? Everyone needs an axe-man, Black. The Dark Lord had the Lestranges, Lestrange has Lemuel Scabior and Albus had Mad Eye and his coterie of handpicked killers.'

'And you have me.'

'You aren't so much a hired wand as you are a nuisance, but yes, generally speaking. Krum has Malfoy Jr . Malfoy Jr has Tamm-or will when he's aged a bit- and Paavo Kask. The girl has Madam Scabior. And Scabior himself, if only she knew.'

Sirius let it all process. 'You have Moody now. Why would you employ someone you think is a dangerous fanatic?'

'That's exactly why. Azkaban tempered him, but when Moody devotes himself to a cause, he's in it until the end. Because he's a true believer who will do whatever's asked of him. And as I said, I esteem his skill greatly.'

'Dumbledore, though, he was trying to make things better. For everyone, not just his own group of people.'

'Everyone? Even those he didn't agree with?'

'He wouldn't have approved of the purges. The concentration camps. The secret police.'

'Not as such, no. But again, he had no need of it. He had the Ministry, Azkaban, and the Order to do those things.'

'The Order was not-'

'Articulate the difference, if you can. What precisely separated one from the other?'

'None of us was sworn to Dumbledore personally.'

'You needn't be. If Dumbledore had asked you all to fling yourselves off a cliff, you'd have fought to be the first. You were sworn to him in your hearts.'

'Maybe we were, but Snape, the other was going to let those kids die.'

'He was. That could just as easily be the effects of making so many Horcruxes, or simply an adolescent body housing an elderly brain. Do you think twenty years ago he would have made a choice like that?'

Sirius mulled it over. 'No. I never knew him like yourself, but he was cannier than that.'

'Damned right he was. So to answer you, Black, it's all those things. And none of them. At the end of the day, it was something I was good at.'

'You were good at loads of other things.'

'I was intelligent, yes. But nothing that got the approval of my peers the way my potions did, or the spells I made.'

'You did it to have friends?'

'More or less. If I spent the holidays with Avery, or the younger Mulciber, or Lucius, I didn't need to spend them here.'

Sirius smiled a little. It was not a friendly smile. 'Like I did with the Potters?'

'I suppose so, yes.'

'And you wanted to be with people who made you laugh, or could help you?'

'Sometimes. I was at disadvantage in many ways-Mother was a Prince but a woman could only know so much about the lives of Pureblood men-and they helped me. Lucius took me under his wing, so to speak.'

'Because you made potions for him.'

'It amused him to play Pygmalion. And he likes poisons, Lucius. We developed quite a catalogue of them.'

'How comforting. If they invite me to dinner, remind me to have something else to do that night.'

'I'd say stay in and wash your hair, but you haven't got any.'

'Ha bloody ha, Snape.'

Snape smirked at him a moment and then stopped. 'Have we bared our souls enough for one night, or shall we weep and embrace like old women?'

Sirius took a deep breath. 'For whatever it's worth to you-'

'It isn't.'

'We didn't mean for it to go as far as it did. We thought the howls would spook you. Or else old Bory-remember the village watchman, Boringer?-would catch you and march you back to school.'

'Did it not bother you to use Lupin that way? He depended on you to keep his secret.'

Sirius felt a guilty, yellowish squirming in his guts. 'I know. I mean, we knew that. But in fairness, if you got caught, it wouldn't have been an issue.'

'And if I had got in, and Lupin had savaged and infected me? Or eaten me, for that?'

Pain was washing over Sirius in waves. Perhaps it was time. Perhaps it was fair.

'We were teenagers. We didn't think.'

'No.'

'And I suppose we thought we'd live forever. And so would you, and Remus. And James.'

'Black' said Snape suddenly 'why did he hate me so? Potter Sr. I never did anything to him. At first.'

'No. James was...his parents were in their eighties when he was born, you know. A miracle baby. He'd always been the centre of things, and I think...you were smart, Snape. This greasy little guttersnipe-sorry-but everyone said how smart you were. And it made him angry.'

'No one said it to me.'

'Because you were an arse about it.'

'I was never.'

'Yes, Severus Snape would **never** act like a cunt about something, would he?'

Snape's mouth quirked. 'That's really rather your department, I daresay.'

'Oh, but when I say he's a virgin, he throws a strop.'

'I'm not.'

'As previously explained, Snape, your hand does not count.'

'Malfoy's annual Christmas party, the year you and I were sixteen.'

'Imagine that. I've always thought Lucius looked like a good cuddler. Is he?'

'No, you twat, it wasn't him.'

'He's quite a handsome fellow, if you like them tall and blond and vain.'

'I like them female. You know, nicely curved in the right places.'

'If Lucius put on some weight, I suppose...'

'It was a woman, Black.'

Sirius snorted. 'Like whom? Cissy?'

'Of course not. She and Malfoy adore one another. The correct family, however.'

'Andromeda?'

'She'd left by then.'

'Bellatrix?'

'I told you ages ago. When you asked me whether I'd fathered the girl.'

'I thought it was a joke!'

'You were wrong.'

'Rodolphus didn't kill you?'

'I expect the Da-the other told them it would please him. Perhaps he thought it would bind me to him. To them, I should say.'

Sirius shook his head. 'That's awful.'

'I was sixteen.'

'She's all bones.'

'Sixteen, Black. She might have had a face like a mermaid as long as the other parts were it working order.'

Sirius mock-shivered. 'Damn it, now dinner is going to be awkward.'

'Not at all. Just don't think about it.'

'Damn you, Snape.'

'Too late, Black.'

Sirius grinned. 'Marlene McKinnon, in the back room of James' parents' townhouse.'

'Showing appreciation to your hosts for their hospitality?'

'She was willing, and I was hard.'

'Really, Black.'

'It was fun. We were seeing one another, you know.'

'When she...'

'Yes.'

Sirius half thought Snape would make a remark but he didn't. Perhaps he understood what it was like.

A thump, and childish voices debating much too loudly about who would go and get the ball from crazy Snape's yard. Sirius got up and changed, went to the garden and scratched. Snape let him out.

'I had better not find any dismembered gnome bits in my bed this time, you manky bastard.'

Sirius changed back. 'No promises.' Then he padded out as Salazar, to scare the kids off for their own good.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**This story has taken some unusual turns, even for me. I was slightly shocked by this turn of events, and I suspect a lot of you will be, too. Some of you may not love it-this is a very fumble-able plotline, and I understand that.**

**I also have faith. I think this can work. If anyone wants to message me or leave feedback voicing concerns, I will do my best to address them. In the interest of allaying obvious fears, I have inserted an A/N which might spoil a bit but could help put some concerns to bed.**

Bellatrix was showering, letting the water wash away the taint of the thing. Once she had thriven on this sensation, but now it seemed tawdry to her, vile. Beside her, Rodolphus was soaping himself, humming tunelessly.

'It's a start.'

He nodded. He was fully erect, and his hand started to stray to her breast before he checked himself. It was not a good idea, yielding to that urge, not here, not like this. She shocked herself by catching his hand for a second before she reached up to wash the soap from her hair.

'I'm sorry, Trixie.'

'Don't be. I feel it too, you know.'

'It would be dangerous.'

She nodded. 'It's how we got Hermione, Rodolphus. What are the odds lightening would strike twice?'

She didn't mean pregnancy; she meant the odds of them producing a child born of a union of Dark magic as strong as theirs, a child as normal as their daughter. If they ever had another child, the odds it would be deformed, or worse, were astronomical.

She stepped out and wrapped herself in one of Snape's yellowed, threadbare towels. Small as she was, it hardly fit round her. Rodolphus didn't even try. He towelled himself briskly and started to re-dress, raking his fingers through his hair.

'It's been a long time, hasn't it?'

He nodded. 'And it was-good. Did you find?'

It had been like climbing into a hot bath after spending hours in a cold, dark room, like her first meal after Azkaban. It had been so pleasurable it was almost repulsive.

Her maid appeared and held out her smalls. She stepped in and fastened her camisole. 'It was. Rodolphus, do you think she has it?'

'Hermione?'

'Yes.'

Rodolphus was letting his valet comb his hair. 'I don't know, Trixie. She's very good at offensive magic. That's supposed to be the first sign.'

Bellatrix wished she didn't agree. 'Yes. That could be training, though.'

'The firestorm?'

'I suppose. Still, that doesn't mean-do we talk to her about it?'

Rodolphus was dressed. 'Probably not a bad plan. She's so curious.'

'Talk to all of them, then. We'll ask Cissy, but I'm sure Malfoy will see the sense of it.'

'Do you suppose she'll think us hypocrites?'

Bellatrix considered, grimacing as her maid started combing snarls from her hair. 'Aren't we?'

'Generally speaking, no. In this, though...?'

'If anyone would understand, Rodolphus, it is the children.' She stood still whilst her elf tugged her dress over her head, and slid stocking on her, and then her boots. She didn't have any spare makeup here, more's the pity.

Still, she was Bellatrix Lestrange. No one, she mused, feels like a feared Death Eater whilst they're nude. Rodolphus was watching her appreciatively.

'You're a beautiful woman, Trixie.'

'And you're transparently obvious, but yes, tonight would be fine.'

He laughed. 'I love you.'

'Don't get too ambitious, Rodolphus. Once is plenty at our ages.'

Still laughing, he opened the door and let her proceed him to the parlour.

Cousin Sirius looked awful. He'd showered first, but even forty minutes after he'd left the attic, he was green-faced, shivering all over. Rabastan was next to him, talking softly to distract him.

Snape came in. 'It took you long enough.'

'Not all of us have your natural radiance, Snape.'

Snape's mouth twisted into a moue of dislike, or amusement. One could never quite tell with him. 'If I should find any untoward stains on my bedding, I will bill you directly, Bellatrix.'

Rab snorted and tried to make it a cough. Bellatrix shot him a stern look-don't encourage him, Rabastan!-and sat down on Sirius's other side.

'You've never encountered this, Sirius?'

He shook his head. 'Dumbledore would have sensed it on me. And Mad Eye.'

That was probably true. She patted his back gently. 'It gets easier, cousin.' Part of her wanted to shield the man she still thought of as her little cousin from the books and their knowledge, but realistically she couldn't, and he wanted to help. The children, at least, were another story entirely.

'Cissy and Malfoy will be here soon?'

'Quite.'

They'd decided that as few people as possible would help with this, to minimise the dangers of it, and to make sure that the vulnerable amongst them would be protected should the Ministry raid again.

The elf opened the door and Narcissa appeared. Lucius was right behind her, ashen. Cissy looked very little better. Bellatrix jumped up and went to her, flinging both arms about her.

'What's happened? The children?'

'They're fine.'

'What's happened?' The rest of the group moved subtly forward, clearly preparing for the worst.

'There's been an attack of some kind.'

'On whom?'

'We aren't sure. Just that it seems to have been bad.'

'Narcissa, just tell us.'

Malfoy coughed. 'Dementors.'

'What?'

'There was an attack on some town in the Orkneys. Dementors attacked them.'

'Did they drive them off?'

'They were muggles.'

The room was leaden. Cousin Sirius went even greener, and Bellatrix found she, too, was feeling a little sick. She had no love of muggles, to be sure, but to be set upon that way, not to even see them coming, those cold, cold hands clamped on faces that had no idea what was happening...

Snape cleared his throat. 'This proves that we were correct. He is growing madder with every passing day.'

They looked at him. 'What?'

'When I spoke with him yesterday, he hinted at wanting something that would cow the Bulgarians to prevent an invasion. I doubt the two are coincidentally related.'

'What you're suggesting is an abomination, Severus. Surely even he knows they'd be uncontrollable.'

'Does he care? He is well protected, as are those closest to him.'

The group was silent, contemplating how this changed the game. Finally Rodolphus spoke.

'Should we see about sending the children back, do you think? To Bulgaria? Not to mention Eugenia and Hetty?'

Snape shook his head. 'We mustn't tip our hand. Not to mention, there is a chance, however small, it's a coincidence. Stranger things have been known to happen.'

'Yes, because the-because he would make all sorts of coy hints about some grand secret weapon and Dementors would attack less than twenty four hours later in a purely random fashion, Snape.'

'You mean like how a girl presumed to be muggle-born could be discovered because she and her natural mother both happened to get injured within five minutes and come to the same person for treatment, whilst a werewolf just happened to be there to smell their shared blood?'

Bellatrix glowered but couldn't think of a decent rebuttal. Arse of a Halfblood, she thought sullenly. He was right, though.

'What shall we do, then?'

'Warn them. We can Portkey as many of them as possible, if things are dire.'

'Hetty, though...'

'Needs must is needs must.' Damn Snape, must he always make sense?

Bellatrix felt a sudden, painful wave of surreality wash over her. How had this happened? She was Bellatrix Black Lestrange, the Most Faithful.

Well, not anymore. She listened to what Snape had to say.

Rita Skeeter was at home when she got the owl from her editor. She lurched to her feet, hand to her mouth to keep from sicking up. Metellus, hearing the bird, had come out of the bedroom and hastened to her side, pulling her into himself.

'Ree? Darling, what's happened?'

She gasped, shaking her head. 'Metellus, something terrible has,,,oh, God.'

She handed him the letter and he read it. Then threw it in the fire, as though it were an advertisement from a store or some piece of hate-mail from an irate reader.

'Metellus?'

'Sweetheart, hush. They were only muggles.'

'Yes, but Dementors...oh, my God. Those poor people.'

'Rita, really. Do you think this wasn't planned for?'

Rita's world went cold and dead and sepia toned. 'What?'

Metellus coloured a little. 'I wanted to spare you, darling-and you mustn't ever let on you know-but this wasn't a spontaneous thing, precisely.'

Her mouth was filled with hot, heavy saliva. She was going to vomit. She turned, stumbled into the bathroom and sicked up in the tub. The tireless elf appeared to clean it as she brushed her teeth, tears running down her face.

'Rita?'

'I'm fine.' She swished her mouth with potion to make her breath sweet and then stepped out. She was a professional, damn it. If she couldn't pull one over on Travers, she might as well hang up her quill. She smiled shakily, still feeling like her insides were full of beetles.

'What was that, Rita?'

She thought as fast as she ever had. 'I've a horror of Dementors. Ever since I was a child. I used to have these nightmares, Metellus...' She lowered her eyes, not needing to feign the shudder that shook her.

Metellus hugged her again. 'There there, dear heart. Nothing can hurt you whilst I'm here.'

'I know. It made me think about that, was all.'

'Ah.' He was still holding her against him. If he asked her to oblige him she'd scream, she would.

'You never mentioned nightmares.'

'It's such a silly thing. You know how children are.'

'I do. And His Lordship has the situation well in hand. I've been monitoring things for months. It'll make Britain great again, you'll see.'

'They aren't tameable, are they? Dementors?'

He stroked her brow. 'Well, darling, they needn't be. We simply point them at the enemy and then pick up the pieces.'

'Suppose they should find some way to break free?'

He shook his head at once. 'They shan't, love. The Dark Lord has seen to it specially.'

She knew not to say anything else. Instead, she nodded. 'All right, then.'

'Will you have a nightmare tonight, do you think?'

'I shouldn't wonder.'

He made a sympathetic sound. 'We'll have some wine before bed. That might help you sleep more deeply.' He kissed her brow and stepped back, frowning.

'How did your friend find out so quickly?'

Rita forced herself to sound casual. 'He's a Scot, Nigel. His parents live up that way.'

'Goodness. I do hope they're all right.'

'He would have said if they weren't.'

Metellus nodded. 'All's well that ends well, eh?'

She nodded, smiling. 'Yes, of course.' Relief was like a splash of cold water on the hottest day in the Sahara; it brought her some small hope.

Some, but not much. She thought of those butchered muggles and made her choice. The odds she would survive such a thing were minimal. She was signing on for torture and death. If the aurors didn't come for her, Limpkin would, or Rice and his loop of cord, so hard for wizards to trace or explain.

Did it matter? Anything was better than the thought of Travers, sharing her bed with a man who'd helped unleash this horror, and serving the tyrant who'd ordered it. Rita was done with that. If nothing else, perhaps when she met those aurors she'd helped kill, they'd hear her out.

There was no public outcry about the Dementor attack. How could there be? The Dark Lord controlled the media, after all. Muggles believed the village had been attacked by 'radical foreign elements', and a spate of hate crimes directed at perceived likely offenders flared briefly and then burnt out. Such do these things go, more often than not.

When the denizens of Grimmauld Place found out, they couldn't react. Nagini was amongst them, snoozing on the divan. Strangely, aside from her sheer size, she was easy to miss. She had a habit of curling along ceiling beams, or other dark little niches. More worryingly, she had a habit of slithering into beds as the occupants slept, eager for the heat. It was probably innocent, was the consensus, but it's really very disquieting to wake up coiled in a giant, man-eating snake, inches from the fanged maw.

Hetty Gill Feathering would know. When she'd heard about Whitnell (which was the muggle village), she'd cried for an hour in the bathroom, sitting in the tub clutching her belly. She'd never even met a muggle, but the thought of those innocent families made her positively ill.

Now she was waking, and rolled to find herself eye to eye with a snake. Des was gone-he was a very early rise, Des, and often took a brisk walk, or did some exercises. Hetty quite approved of that in theory, but in practice like to laze about in the warm nest of their bed, luxuriating in thick, soft blankets and fluffy pillows, like clouds. To someone who grew up sharing a bed with three other girls, and thin blankets, it was heaven.

She felt herself coming slowly back to the world. There was a kind of low, pleasant hum in her ears, and she felt nicely held, relaxed and happy. Was Des humming? He had quite a pleasant baritone, she knew, but it wouldn't be like him to do that.

She tried to roil over and found she couldn't. It didn't bother her much. Whatever was holding her was warm and safe, and she half wanted to drift back off, snug in the...coils?

She opened her eyes, only to find Nagini's impassive visage was literally a few centimetres from hers. She made herself go limp, sensing it would a mistake to struggle, and then smiled brightly at the snake.

Nagini opened an eye the size of a grapefruit and regarded her with good natured interest. The snake let her slim tongue dart out and play on Hetty's cheek. Hetty giggled and reached slowly to caress the snake's nose.

_/the female doesnt fear nagini good good/_

_/nagini would not hurt hetty/_

_/ no nagini found three rats in the house cave below the elf should fix hole rats will bite edric-young eat food for winter nagini ate them/_

_/good good/_

Rats, she thought, grimacing with distaste. Hetty didn't mind a clean, friendly pet rat like Chum, but a filthy, nasty, dirty city rat, crawling with bugs? Nagini was right, they'd make Edric sick, or Cunegarde, or taint the food with their vile humours.

Hetty rubbed her eyes and abruptly realised she wasn't supposed to be able to speak to snakes. She gasped and sat up, sheet falling away. 'Dear God in Heaven.'

Nagini hissed amusement. _/hetty-speaker does not know/_

_/no how is hetty doing this/_

_/some humans can do it some cant most cant/_

_/oh oh oh/_

Hetty felt light-headed and then the snake flexed, bringing her body to support Hetty's. Hetty leant back into her, comfortably held by the strong snake. Then she realised what she'd done. How had this happened? What **was** she?

Nagini stretched her neck a bit. _/ there is young inside hetty-speaker/_

_/yes/_

_/good/_

_/hetty must get up/_

_/ the bed is warm/_

_/hetty makes water soon/_

The snake obligingly loosened her coils, and Hetty rose, tugging her nightdress (she slept nude, typically) over her head on her way to the necessary. The house was awake, and she could hear Barty and Anu downstairs, practicing English by listening to Quidditch.

In the bathroom, Hetty climbed into the tub on rubbery, numb legs. She'd heard about Parselmouths, but they were Dark, and almost all gone. She, Hetty, was a perfectly competent witch but in no way Dark, or special enough to be anything like a Parselmouth. She'd only got five OWLS? Didn't that mean anything?

She let the elf wash her hair for her and came out of the tub pinky-clean and smelling of lavendar. Perhaps, she thought optimistically, the snake will have gone by the time I get back. It could have been a dream, or some sort of thing with my humours all unbalanced by the baby.

No such luck. The snake was still in the bed, seemingly waiting for her. Part of her wanted to scream, to tell it to go away. Hetty had a comfortable life now, a life where nothing about her attracted attention, a life of happy obscurity. Couldn't she have that? Couldn't she have the dignity of being average?

But she didn't. It felt right to her, like some dormant thing had woken in her heart. And, she told herself, Nagini just wanted to be friends. It would really be very cold and nasty of her to reject someone simply because they happen to be a giant snake. It would make her like those awful Slytherins that called her names in school for being an orphan.

The snake had squirmed mostly under the covers, and opened her eyes as Hetty came back in. Her tongue came out languidly, and Hetty extended a hand before she'd even thought to question why. The snake lapped her skin, tasting the soap and water, and made a disgusted noise. She seemed content to relax and watch.

Hetty's elf appeared and laid out her clothes, helping her into them. Nagini watched interestedly, sometimes tipping her head to get a better view.

_/hetty goes down now/_

_/nagini sleeps and then comes to eating place hetty-speaker tells brood about speaking/_

Hetty shook her head violently. _/no no hetty waits/_

_/nagini tells master master will be pleased to know another speaker/_

_/no no hetty must protect young/_

_/master protects young/_

_/master is busy hetty and nagini mustnt bother master/_

_/hetty-speaker is afraid/_

_/hetty is small master is big/_

_/master will not eat hetty-speaker/_

Hetty fought down a giggle that was as much hysteria as amusement. The snake was clearly eager for another person to spend time with.

_/hetty knows but there is a threat hetty fixes it protects young/_

_/hetty tells master of the threat/_

_/when it is close it could be nothing/_

_/hetty-speaker watches hetty-speaker waits then tells when the attack is ready/_

_/yes yes yes/_

_/good good/_

Hetty touched her belly on her way down the steps, knowing her baby was sleeping safely inside her. Would she be able to do it too? Hetty found herself hoping so without really realising it before she shoved the thought away.

Sheerly by coincidence, the first person Hetty ran into was her husband, who was staring at the window closest the landing. It was decorative stain glass, and perhaps a three year old might have been able to fit through it, assuming he was very dedicated and unusually determined to gain ingress (at least in three year old terms).

Desmond was glaring at it balefully, and Hetty, concerned, touched his arm. 'Des?'

'Morning, Hetty. I don't like the looks of that window.'

'Why ever not? It's pretty.'

'Yes, yes, but suppose it could be breached?'

'It's pretty small, Des. We'd see them before they got too far, and Kreacher's being extra vigilant about listening wires.'

'True.'

Des still looked grouchy about it, and Hetty found herself wishing his appetites were more in line with most men's. It would be so much easier to distract him that way, for all she ordinarily didn't mind his lack of interest much; she liked swieving as much as the next girl, but it was sort of nice that he touched her just because he wanted to please her, and not because he wanted to put his cock in her.

'It'll be all right, Des. We're doing everything we can to keep safe.'

He nodded reluctantly. 'True. How is the baby today?'

'She's well, I think. She wants to spend some time in the sunshine today.'

Desmond liked that answer. He was urging her to take gentle exercise, even as Snape was, and it seemed a good day for it, warmer than the last week had been. From the landing, she could see bright blue skies through the windows in the parlour.

'I thought I'd ask Gennie and Edric to take an airing with me. Malfoy Manor, maybe.' The gardens at Feathering were treacherous even for the non-pregnant, full of gopher holes and creeping vines. Narcissa had made it clear the family was welcome to use Malfoy Manor's manicured, level gardens whenever they liked.

'That's a good idea. Edric needs some sunshine.'

'He's awfully healthy though. Heavy as a sack of rocks.' She smiled, pleased to be able to say that.

'Quite.'

'Have you seen Snape, Desmond?'

'Talking with Hermione and Viktor, I think. Something the matter?'

'Not at all. Just curious about something.'

'Is it something I could help you with?'

She fought the urge to tell him about her strange discovery. 'I don't know.'

'What sort of thing is it?'

'Oh, just a silly question. I'll figure it out.'

He nodded and went back to staring intently at the windows. Hetty went to get breakfast.

After everyone had eaten, the two women, with Edric in tow, went to Malfoy Manor. To their surprise, Barty declined to join them. Rabastan had asked him to keep working with Tamm, he explained seriously, and so they were listening to more sports and working on lessons.

Nagini did join them, and spent the ride coiled about Hetty, Edric resting on her tail. The baby seemed to be excited to see his new friend, and crowed happily every few minutes before he dozed off in the warm sunshine.

'Eugenia?'

'Hmmm?'

Hetty looked round. Nagini had gone to look at the decorative carp in the reflecting pool and taken Edric with her. He was trying to catch butterflies, sometimes leaning over to give the snake a sloppy, open mouthed kiss on her spine.

'Hetty?'

'Yes, love?'

'Is something the matter?'

Hetty closed her eyes, feeling the sun in her hair and on her face. She was loved, and her baby, and she'd tell them eventually. But not today, with everything so nice.

The tip of Nagini's tail was lashing with contentment. She was making soft little hisses, drowsing in the sun as the baby hung in her coils, finger in his mouth.

'I don't want to talk about it right now, Gennie. Just that it's nothing that could hurt anyone.'

'Are you sure you're all right?'

'No. But I can't-not today. You know, I was-it's so good we can all be together.'

'It is, isn't it?'

Hetty touched her belly again. Her baby, floating in the darkness of her belly, deserved a fresh beginning. She deserved both parents. Would Des want a baby who could talk to snakes?

She didn't think he seemed the type. But then, neither had Lem, and he'd killed that auror, Gennie's auror, in front of poor Hermione. Showed what her judgement was worth, didn't it?

'Yes' she said decisively. 'It's a very good day.'

**Spoiler A/N:**

**Firstly, no, Hetty is not related to the Dark Lord or Salazar Slytherin. I've always taken the position that Voldemort is auto-sexual-that he's so self-obsessed that he has no time or interest for anyone else, ever, except to further his ends. He never fathered children, married, etc.**

**The actual topic of how Hetty can do this is addressed in another chapter, but not in any depth. It's not of interest to us except in passing.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Generally speaking, I have a policy against being excessively self-revelatory, but for the curious, a lot of the Barty storyline comes from my experiences working as a residential councillor in a group home for mentally handicapped adults when I was younger.**

**Whilst nothing in this chapter is a direct quote, the feel is as consistent as I could make it with some of my memories of that time. **

**This chapter is dedicated to those of you caring for someone with an impairment-thank you.**

Head pounding, Draco tried not to move, praying it was a long time before morning. His stomach was roiling, and even the thought of light hurt his eyes. He squirmed away from Anu as gently as he could, careful not to make too much noise.

'Kreacher?'

The elf came at once, giving him a stern glare. 'Master Draco?' The elf's hard, bony hand tested his forehead, checking for a fever. Draco closed his eyes a second; it felt awfully good to be fussed over by an elf. His valet was very good at what it did, but sometimes a person wants a bit of babying.

'I've got a migraine.' He didn't need to say anything else. The elf left and returned with a potion and a cold cloth. Draco took both gratefully, settling back in the bed. Beside him, Barty was snoring softly, which was fine. Better, if anything. Draco wasn't sure he could do with Barty's overwhelming, if genuine, concern at the moment.

'Kreacher is getting whom?'

'No one. I'll be all right.'

Kreacher looked ready to argue, but Barty's eyelids were fluttering, and he rolled over. 'Draco?'

'It's nothing, Barty, go back to sleep.'

Barty sat up and touched his forehead as Kreacher had done. 'You're not warm. Is it your belly?'

Draco shook his head and tried to pretend he was falling asleep. 'No. Just a headache. It's all right.'

'It's not. Should I go and get Lucius?'

'No. No, I took a phial, ask Kreacher.'

Kreacher nodded. 'Master Draco took a phial.'

'You still look peaky to me. Were you having a nightmare?'

Draco swore mentally. 'A bit, Barty. Let's go back to sleep, wouldn't want to wake Anu.'

'Anu's a heavy sleeper. He slept through all that ice falling off the Ministry when it warmed up in December, remember? We had a hag spring for a few days.'

'I remember.' He heard a thin cry, and swore harder as Zdratza brought Edric in. The baby was sniffling and whining, clearly bothered by his new tooth. Barty took him at once, cooing softly.

Draco liked children, and adored Edric, but not at this hour, and not when he'd been woken from the usual chorus of screams by a migraine. The baby calmed as soon as Barty was holding him, biting his little enchanted penguin.

Barty leant back on the bolsters, nimbly bouncing the baby. Edric was getting quieter and quieter, one little damp finger poking Barty companionably in the cheek as his eyes drifted shut, still gnawing the toy.

'It's cold-charmed to soothe his gums. I imagine it must hurt, getting a new tooth. My wisdom teeth were awful.'

Draco nodded. 'Are you going to take him back to bed once he's settled?'

Barty smoothed the baby's thick hair. 'He's all right for a while. He likes it in here with us.'

'Suppose we should roll over on him?'

'Zdratza and Kreacher are about, they won't let us.'

Damn. Draco resigned himself and rolled on his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. Barty was settling in too. Then the slithering got loud enough for Draco to open his eyes, and he swore harder. Fuck me, he thought, does it never end?

Nagini paused at the door, sniffing the air. Her expressionless face gave nothing as she made her way to the big four-poster and easily climbed up, settling across them all. Anu stirred, murmuring, and Nagini reached up with the tip of her tail and lightly caressed his spine. He settled down.

Draco wasn't-exactly-scared of snakes. He liked harmless garden snakes, which one could pick up and examine, and which had no fangs. He respected the idea of large predators, and would have liked very much observing one at a safe distance, perhaps from a broom. Draco enjoyed educational experiences, and that would definitely count.

What he wasn't sure he liked was a massive, man-eating snake-spy coiled itself about the people in the bed, head resting about Barty on the bolsters, watching them with interest as the baby, excited to see his friend, woke up and reached for her, crowing.

Nagini obliged, craning her neck so Edric could pat her nose. Edric giggled and then, sleepy, forced his eyes open so as not to sleep. The snake flicked out her tongue and brushed his cheek, making a low, somnolent hiss as she did it. Edric sighed and rested his head on Barty's chest, one little hand still on Nagini, who slithered closer, gently tightening her coils as she did so. Draco, feeling a tiny fraction of the terrible strength in them, swallowed hard.

'We're lucky His Lordship let us have Nagini for a few days, Draco, aren't we?'

Draco eyed the snake, who felt his scrutiny and turned her massive head to study him with one platter sized eye.

'Yes, Barty, lucky.'

'She certainly likes Edric.'

'She does.'

'So what was your nightmare?'

Draco bit back a foul word. He knew in his heart that Barty meant the best. He knew he should talk about it. But talking about it would make it real, and he didn't want that, or to scare his poor, brain-damaged friend with things he wouldn't have the capacity to understand.

'Things that happened back in December, Barty, that's all.'

Barty leant closer. 'Edric is going to sleep, Draco, it's all right. You can tell me.'

Draco looked away. Please, please, someone distract him. Above him, the snake made a low sort of grunt and squeezed a little with her coils. Draco jumped, half wanting to reach for his wand, and then made himself relax. The snake was still squeezing, not so much tightening as pulsing. It felt weird but not menacing, so Draco made himself close his eyes and pretend it didn't make him nervous.

Barty touched his back. 'Draco? I could get Lucius, if you'd rather.' Zdratza appeared and Barty handed Edric to her, kissing the baby's brow before he did.

'No, Barty. Really, I'm all right. Let's go to sleep, all right?'

'No.'

'Please?'

'No.'

Barty reached over and gently pressed a hand on Draco's back, right between his shoulder blades. Draco grimaced into the pillow; really, he wasn't Edric, to be lulled asleep, for pity's sake.

Barty didn't stop. 'So what was your nightmare?'

Draco tensed slightly. 'I, err, hear people screaming.'

'What else?'

'Things we did. I don't want to get specific.'

'Why not?'

'I saw all of them die once, Barty. That was enough.'

Barty stopped patting and squeezed his arm. 'You're doing well. Then what?'

Draco hissed a little, trying to think how to describe things. 'It's not pictures, it's just sounds and smells. And feelings, sometimes. Motions, I mean.'

'Like what?' Barty was patting again.

'Flying. On ships.'

'Oh.' Barty kept patting him as Draco talked, sometimes making a strange little humming noise. Draco closed his eyes, hoping that if he feigned sleep, Barty would stop asking questions.

'Draco, it's all right to feel embarrassed about this.'

'I'm not...'

'Nightmares, I mean.'

'The others don't...ohhhh...have them.'

'Maybe they do and maybe they won't. But you aren't getting better not talking about it.'

'Mmm, s'not s'bad, Barty. Really, s'all right.'

'It's not.' Barty was still patting, and Nagini's hissing was the sound of a light rain, something Draco sensed rather than clearly heard unless he concentrated. He burrowed into the pillow and sighed. He'd pretend to be sleepy until Barty stopped, was all.

'Draco, relax. It's over now. Shhhh, shhhhh.'

'Mmmhmmm.'

'We'll all be here when you wake up, I promise.'

'Mmmmmmm.'

Draco yawned. My, he was good at this pretending. He nestled tighter into the bed, feeling how warm and nice the bedding was. He still missed his rooms at Malfoy Manor, sometimes, but this was all right too.

The snake's squeezing made him feel sort of limber and syrupy. Where had Barty learnt to do this, he wondered? He opened his mouth to ask.

'Barty...?'

'Shhhhh.'

'M'not sleepy...'

'Shhhhh.'

Draco huffed, nuzzling into the bed, which was deep and cosy and safe. He was perfectly willing to humour Barty, but it wasn't like he needed...needed...he wasn't... thought that...it...

Draco didn't even realised he'd fallen asleep until he woke up at nine, headache free.

Barty did not sleep, and nor did Nagini. Barty waited until Draco, who was almost his nephew, was deeply asleep, and then rose, making sure the two boys were well tucked in.

He wandered downstairs, leaving Nagini curled up in the bed. There was a light burning in the dining room, so he went to it, careful to make no noise. Rabastan was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee at his elbow, frowning down at a book of crosswords. It had been Barty's birthday gift to him, and it made him very proud to see Rab use it.

'Hello, Rabastan.'

'Hello, Barty. It's very late.'

'I know. Why are you up?'

'My back is bothering me. You?'

'Draco had a nightmare. It's all right now, Nagini is with him.'

'A nightmare about what, Barty?'

Barty frowned, torn between his desire to tell Rabastan so he could help and his desire to protect Draco's privacy.

'The things that happened. He didn't want to say what, exactly.'

'What did you do?'

'Patted his back until he fell asleep. Nagini helped, too. She hissed. It made them both sleepy. Draco and Edric.'

Rabastan nodded. 'That's good, Barty.'

'Rab? Is the Dark Lord angry with us?'

Rabastan set down his pencil. 'What makes you ask that?'

'Everyone is tense.' Barty wished he could describe what he saw. Sometimes it was like there were two of him. One of them remembered before, and felt very sad when he thought about it too hard.

The other was smaller and happier. He had a family and elves to keep him company. He liked this one better. It didn't hurt to be this Barty. His memories were mostly good, and every day he woke knowing things would be like they always were.

Sometimes, though, the other Barty bothered him. Sometimes he remembered. Once he was rocking Edric and Edric had fussed. The sound had woken the other Barty, the big, sad Barty.

'The baby was screaming' the big, sad Barty whispered in his ear. 'Longbottom, the aurors. Azkaban.'

The big, sad Barty couldn't stay very long. It was good he couldn't. He made things blurry, like they weren't what they were. It was him who'd suggested that maybe the Dark Lord was angry with them.

How could be explain to Rab about the two versions of himself? He had to try. Maybe Rabastan would understand. Barty picked a hangnail and made the attempt.

'Rab? Do you remember that bad thing we did to those aurors?'

Rabastan went still. 'Yes, Barty, I do.'

'I do too. Why did we hurt them?'

'Barty, you mustn't ever say anything about this to Hermione, or Draco, or any of the children.'

Barty knew that. He'd made Hermione very sad that way once when she'd just been little. He hated thinking about that. He hadn't meant to make her cry. Big, sad Barty had got through a little bit. That was why he was bad.

'I won't.'

'They were members of the Order, remember?'

The Order, yes. Barty scrunched his face with effort. 'Mad Eye and Sirius Black and Dumbledore, right?'

'Right.'

'Is that why we hurt them?'

'No. We thought they knew where the Dark Lord was.'

Barty nodded slowly. 'And they didn't.'

'No. They didn't.'

'Oh.'

'What makes you ask, Barty?'

Barty leant over, dropping his voice. 'I wasn't always like this, Rab. Sometimes I remember.'

'Does it...that must be very hard.'

'Sometimes it is. Is His Lordship angry that it's not like it was?'

'I couldn't say, Barty.'

'Rabastan, I'm a Death Eater too.' Barty tugged up his sleeve, showing off his Mark. He wondered if he could put his sad feelings into words. He liked words, but this was bigger, maybe even bigger than both the Bartys together.

'I know you are. If there is anyone more loyal than yourself, Barty, I don't know him.'

'Salazar.'

'Perhaps. He's awfully taken with Lady.'

Barty considered. 'Well, yes, but she's prettier than you or I.' Rabastan laughed and Barty joined him.

'I think...' Rabastan inhaled deeply 'that it's been a very hard adjustment for us all. That's some of it.'

'Some of it.' Not all, thought the Bartys, the big and the small and the one he was at the moment, who was both of them and neither.

'Everything is harder now than it was. Things just...'

'Fell apart.'

That satisfied the Bartys, who had fallen quiet, parsing what Rab said. So far they all agreed it seemed right. They wished it didn't, though. He wanted for things to be all right again, all of them happy and calm.

'Yes. Things fall apart.'

'Is that what happened to me?'

'Barty...your mind broke in Azkaban. And your father decided to use a very strong spell that caused it to...it can't be fixed.'

'I know that.'

'You do?'

Barty nodded stoutly. 'Well, Rabastan, if it was, Sev would've by now.'

'Yes. Severus has always been a good friend to us.'

'So I'm like this because my mind got broken?'

Rabastan nodded. 'I'm not a mindhealer, but yes, as I understand it.'

'Oh.' Most of the Bartys could live with that, but the big, sad one didn't like it a bit. Not fair, he said, and Father's fault. You shut up, the other Bartys said. You're very bad. You hurt Hermione and made those aurors broken like you.

'Rab?'

'Hmmm?'

'Those aurors were broken too. Like me. Is that right?'

'I don't...worse than yourself, Barty.'

'But broken like I am.'

'Yes.'

Rab's voice sounded heavy and strange, like there was something in his throat. Barty wanted to ask, but he wanted to know this more. Maybe now big, sad Barty would let him alone for a while.

'Are they about? I would like to see them.'

'Why, Barty?'

Where was big, sad Barty when one needed him? He could have made sense of this, perhaps. Well, needs must was needs must, he decided.

'Because they're broken too. We could be broken together.'

'They passed away a long time ago, Barty.'

'Oh. Are there other broken people, then? I could go and see them. And talk to them about His Lordship. Couldn't I, Rab?'

Rabastan turned away, eyes wet. 'Yes, Barty. You could do that.'

Eugenia woke when she heard Rabastan come in. 'Rab?'

Her husband cleared his throat. 'Go back to sleep, Gennie.'

'What's wrong?' She sat up, flicking on a light. Her husband looked damp-eyed, shoulders slumped. She stood up and went to him, touching his arm. 'Rabastan?'

'I was talking to Barty.'

'That's generally not a bad thing.'

'It wasn't. It was...God. God. What did we do?'

She gently backed away. 'Come and sit down.'

He did, and told her what had happened. Eugenia listened without comment, startled to feel her own dampening. Stop it, she told herself, Alice was your friend. You loved Alice. Neville was your godson.

All that was true, and would always be true. But Alice was dead, Neville separated from her forever, and Barty in the next room, sleeping peacefully, her son tucked into his arms.

'You did what you could.'

Rabastan chuckled bitterly. 'Ask Barty what we did. He'll tell you.'

'Rab, don't.'

'I had to look at him and tell him, Gennie. He never tasked me with it, not once. If it wasn't for us, he'd be normal.'

'He chose.'

'He was nineteen.'

'It can't be fixed now, Rabastan. All we can do is move forward.'

He nodded, head in hands. 'Someday Edric will be old enough to ask us, and what will we tell him? Barty is like this because of what we did?'

'Barty is like this because he made bad choices, Rabastan. Not in a vacuum, but he did. And because the old Ministry did as well.'

'Bad choices?'

'Azkaban is an abomination, and everyone knew it. I suppose people always think as long as it's no one they know it doesn't count.'

He seemed to be recovering a little. 'You've got strong feelings about this, Gen.'

She realised how close to the edge she'd got. 'I'm tired of seeing people getting hurt for stupid, selfish, small-minded reasons. Is a little peace too much to ask?'

'Probably.'

He stepped into the dressing room to disrobe (one of those weird Pureblood things) and she crawled into the bed, wriggling into place. He came back in his nightshirt and got in beside her.

'If I had it to do again...I just keep thinking how awful it would be for Edric to be taken from us and raised by muggles.'

She tried to sound disinterested in the last part. 'They were good to Hermione, at least.'

'There's exceptions to every rule. But it just...so much was lost, Gennie. We lost the first ten years of Hermione's life. We lost getting to know life after the Dark Lord. We lost Christmases and birthdays. Seeing Barty marry and have his own family. And we're not done.'

'Not done?'

He nodded. 'Edric is the only one of the children who lives at home. The others live abroad and always will. We've lost that, too. Our family is missing an entire generation. Two, counting Sirius and his brother.'

'I know.'

'We've failed them. Barty, the older children, all of them. Name of God, Eugenia, I helped them use Anu to entice that pederast.'

'So did I, remember?'

He nodded, still looking hurt. 'But it all...it's a chain. Every time I look back, I see where I might have changed things. Times I could have spoken and said nothing. And now? It's too late. Our course is set.'

'It was set a long time ago.'

She refused to give in to this. She refused to let him give into it. It could only harm them, and it hurt. It hurt hugely, like a living thing, like the beating of a heart beside her own.

'I should have done something to sway things.'

'Like what, Rabastan? He's not known for being open to new ideas, is he?'

Rabastan chuckled slightly. 'Good point. I suppose I'm being a bit self-indulgent, maundering this way.'

She shook her head stolidly. 'No. We all do it.'

'Even you?'

'Even me.'

'I don't see it in you. You're very guarded, Eugenia.'

She stared at the ceiling. 'Bad experiences when I was younger.'

'Did your fiancé mistreat you?'

'No! I mean, no, he was always...not many people liked him. He could be, well, a bit uptight. But smart. And good at what he did.'

'What attracted you to him?'

She found herself smiling a little. 'He could laugh at himself.'

Rabastan touched her shoulder gently. 'What else?'

'He could make connexions no one else could. He'd look at something and see what no one else did.'

'Do you want to talk about it?'

'No. I want...I want to hoard him. Isn't it awful?' She hoped she hadn't hurt his feelings. Rabastan was simply watching her, unjudging.

'No. I hoard Evan, I suppose.'

'Evan Rosier.'

'Yes. He was my first...everything, really.'

Death Eater or not, Eugenia respected Rabastan too much to treat his grief with anything less than kindness. 'I'm sorry, Rab.'

'So am I. He was...you and he would have liked one another. He reminded me a bit of Snape, but more personable.'

'That's not hard.'

'Gennie!'

'He's my cousin, but he can also be a bit of a toerag. Always could, even when we were small.'

'You'd met him before you were grown?'

'No, Mother sent a letter every few years to poor Eileen. Sometimes Severus sent one as well, when we were old enough.'

Rabastan snorted. 'I believe that.I've always pictured him precisely as he is now, even as a baby.'

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. 'What do you want to do?'

'Do?'

'Barty is lonely, Rab. He's neither fish nor fowl. He can't be...he's not one of the adults and he knows that. But he's not one of the children, either, and he knows that too.'

Rabastan nodded. 'What should we do?'

'Snape might know someone in similar condition. It wouldn't hurt Barty to have some friends.'

'It could be dangerous.'

'So could Barty. So could the children, if they felt the need to be. I'm only saying I think we should consider how to meet Barty's needs best.'

'You're right, Eugenia. I suppose...it's selfish, but I can't stand to think of Barty as...'

'Mentally handicapped?'

'Like those people at St. Mungo's who've addled themselves with magic.'

'He isn't. This was done to him.' Because of what he did to Alice, she reminded herself angrily. Because of Alice and Frank and Neville and Augusta. Remember them when you want to feel sorry for Barty.

Except now she saw Barty's face in her mind, playing with Edric, and she could see the tragedy of it, the whole vile, hideous waste of three lives. In some ways, Barty was a victim too. Some, she thought, but then flashed on finding Alice and Frank and tried not to flinch from the memory of it. It hurt.

Rabastan laid back, hands behind his head. 'If all this works, Eugenia, sometimes I think the best part will be a world without ghosts.'

'Ghosts?'

'Not literal ghosts.'

'Oh. Is that possible?'

'One can dream.'

As she rolled over, she thought she feel eyes on her, dozens of them, and that the ghosts would never go away, whoever won. She didn't sleep for a long time.

The next morning found the final player in the drama, Nagini, curled up round Hetty-Speaker, head on her belly. Hetty-Speaker was gently rubbing her head, and Nagini was making low grunts of pleasure. They were having a good gossip, sitting in a patch of sunlight. In the corridor, the lads were leaving to fly in Wiltshire, Apparated by an elf and joined by Hermione, who was spending the day with her aunt and uncle Malfoy.

_/barty-young is hurt/_

_/yes/_

_/barty-young is not/_

_/no/_

_/draco-young too is hurt bad head pictures/_

_/yes/_

Nagini settled closer. She had only the vaguest idea of dreams, and an even vaguer one of head hurts, but she was centuries old, and she'd seen the evils Men sometimes did one another.

_/what is war hetty-speaker/_

_/death pain fire/_

_/here/_

_/no/_

_/ever/_

_/hetty hopes not/_

_/nagini too/_

Hetty-Speaker shivered and Nagini tightened on her. Nagini could see no colours-her world was all shades of grey and black- and her vision was moderate at best, but she though the way Hetty-Speaker smelt was beautiful, human skin and hair and the warm dusty smell of sunlight.

_/there was war here long ago/_

_/last cold time/_

_/here/_

_/no the before place/_

Nagini didn't know that where she'd lived most her life was called Albania, or that the last six months before this place was Bulgaria, but she remembered the stench of burnt flesh and broken stones. She hissed darkly, understanding at last.

_/now time/_

Hetty-Speaker breathed in and then out like she felt afraid_. /hetty doesnt know/_

Nagini's eyes flicked closed and then opened as the door flew inward and Bellatrix-human ran in.

'Dementors! We have to get the children, hurry!'

The house was filled with the pop that meant the Men were vanishing. Nagini tightened her coils, wanting Hetty-Speaker and her precious burdens close by. Hetty-Speaker made no move to disentangle herself.

Instead, she dropped her head. Water gushed from her eyes and Nagini coiled tighter, watching the door and preparing to strike. War, she realised, was getting the other predator before it got you.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Y'all going to hate me after this. It was hard and painful and terrible, but I needed to challenge myself as a writer, and once the idea was in my head, it stuck there.**

**Spoiler A/N at the bottom.**

**Also, for those of you who've read my other work: Why yes, Ridgey is a crazy badass in every universe. He's here to grow flowers and kick arse, and he's all out of seeds.**

Hermione would always remember the sequence of events that day. She was sitting with her aunt and uncle, sipping lemonade and lambasting the sneakiness, rudeness and haughtiness of the Romanian envoys, especially the ambassador and her husband.

'...an hour and a half late! It greatly inconvenienced us all, amongst other things. And then they refused to stay!'

Aunt Narcissa made a sympathetic noise and offered her a plate of biscuits. Hermione took one, still cross about the insulting lateness of the Romanian party. Uncle Lucius was quiet; Hermione thought he probably didn't wholly approve of a female ambassador but wasn't unkind (or gauche) enough to say it to the Vicereine of Bulgaria.

'Well, darling, it sounds as though you handled it well.'

Hermione nodded her thanks. 'It could be worse. Still, I sent a strongly worded to their Minister about it.'

'It's all one can do, my dear.' Uncle Lucius liked politics, but she could sense there were other questions he wanted to ask. He squeezed her hand gently, smiling.

'How is Madam Tamm? Her cough is better?'

Hermione nodded, slightly puzzled by the abrupt change in topic until she saw the aurors overhead, trailing the lads as they flew. Probably they were too high up to hear, but it was better not to take the chance. She offered her uncle the plate and he took a biscuit himself.

'It is, but her lungs are compromised from so many years of breathing soot. Healer Yokov's got her on things to help, but she tires easily.'

'She's a very brave lady, it seems to me.'

'Yes, she is. And Goose' one of the dogs, so called for his greyish colour and generally good-natured, not too bright demeanour 'is quite taken with her.'

'Good, good. It's healthy for Anu to have a dog.'

They talked about dull, prosaic topics until the aurors were out of sight. Uncle Lucius dropped his voice and made it seem as though he was gently smoothing her brow. 'Talk later.'

'Yes.'

Aunt Narcissa was still smiling. 'Now, love, what did you think of the fashions this year? I liked-'

She never got to finish. The sharp pops of Apparation were all about them and all three jumped up, wands drawn, as the rest of the family appeared. Mother flew to her, shouting.

'Dementors, get the children, get the children inside now!'

Hermione squirmed, wand still drawn. The sky, once china blue, was darkening rapidly. She stepped away, every sense screaming at her. The others felt it too, she could tell; everyone was tense, drawn together.

Another pop. Barty, clinging to Kreacher, ran toward them, followed by what had to be ten or fifteen other elves. 'I've brought all of them except Zdratza!'

Uncle Rab looked prepared to say something when the sky, which had gone a dim and menacing charcoal, darkened further. The air temperature dropped five degrees. Hermione shivered in her thin summer dress and robes, stepping closer to her mother, scanning the skies. 'Send an elf for the boys, hurry!'

'There they are!'

Three blurs were rocketing toward them, moving far too quickly, fishtailing. The last dot was also the smallest, and it was obvious he was having trouble keeping up. The staff of the broom, even from this distance, was juddering wildly. As they watched, it fell away, and Anu plunged toward the earth, flailing.

Father ran forward and swung from the shoulder, like he was throwing a ball. Anu stopped, body jerking, and the first blur peeled off and dove too fast to be seen, grabbing the younger lad somehow as the second came toward them, trying to slow down, shouting.

'RUN! GO! MOTHER, FATHER, RUN!'

Viktor had managed to get Anu on the front of the broom and he shot toward them, shouting Hermione's name.

_'MAKE FOR THE EMBASSY, TAKE THE OTHERS, HURRY! THEY'RE COMING!' _In his haste, he had forgot his English entirely.

'THEY'RE HERE!'

Mother broke from her side and gestured upward. The sky was black, black as pitch, their breath steaming in the air. Aunt Narcissa's roses were dying as Hermione watched, the stench of death and old, flyblown meat in the air.

Hermione made her choice. 'AUNT CISSY, GO! TAKE BARTY, HURRY!'

More pops. Snape and Sirius, wands readied, the stalwart Mippy in tow. The first Dementors were almost on them. The three flyers dropped down vertically, hitting heavily on the patio. Anu seemed little worse for the wear. Hermione grabbed him and almost flung him at Kreacher.

'EMBASSY, NOW!'

Kreacher vanished with the youngest of their number, and then the Dementors were on them. Snape stepped in front of Hermione and raised his wand, robes flying, shouted, voice very loud in the eerie, dead silence the Dementors brought with them.

'EXPECTO PATRONUM!'

A silvery shape flew from the end and resolved into an animal, which ran at the first wave of Dementors. It worked for a moment-whatever it was seemed to exude warmth and life-and it bought them some time.

The elves were next. The denizens of Malfoy Manor had come out to defend their family, and they spread out, waving every weapon they could find-brooms, mops, lit candles, pans, cutting boards, fish knives. One of them went down the lines, lighting anything flammable, urging his fellows on in a high, reedy voice.

'DEFEND THE MASTERS! GO, ELVES, KILL THEM ALL!' The elves flew at the creatures, screaming defiance, and Hermione felt something penetrate the horror and shock and rage of the day, grace in the midst of hell: awe. The elves had powerful magic, tamed only by their geass, and now, in fulfilling their ultimate function, they released it.

As she watched, some of them conjured fireballs and flung them. Some of the Dementors caught fire and seemed to waver, but others came to take their place, pushing forward with an obscene greed, quivering, hands hooked into claws.

Others produced lights, walls of lights that seemed to hurt the Dementors, which clutched the air but pushed on. Elves were falling now, whether struck by the Dark magic which flowed from the foul creatures or exhausted by their efforts.

Mother was laughing. Shrieking, she shoved Hermione back toward Barty and ran the things, snapping her wrist. A lash of flame shot from her wand, and the Dementor closest shrank back with a hideous smell like scorched and rotten meat.

The others joined her. Hermione didn't know the spell, so she stayed back, standing between Barty and the creatures, feeling the battle-coldness in her, wanting to hurt, wanting to kill. And it was good.

'YOU SONS OF WHORES! YOU BASTARDS!' Mother, wild and laughing, hair moving round her head like a sickly corona, frost twinkling in it like beads of glass.

Hermione caught sight of Rinky, standing before she and Barty, flinging balls of fire at the creatures, little voice raised in a wordless shout of rage. She felt a moment of pure, shining love for the elf and then tried to figure out what she could do.

'EXPECTO PATRONUM!' Sirius was as loud as Snape, and his animal lunged from his wand and battened on the closest Dementor, sending it flapping into the sky. They were still closing. At least the werewolves had the good taste to die when one hit them.

Mother was still screaming. Beside her, Aunt Narcissa was using her wand to light their area, making the Dementors flinch long enough for the others to attack. Hermione saw her moment.

'PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!'

The thing spun on her, the shot taking it full in the chest. It kept coming, hands stretched out, hood falling back to reveal a hideous gaping maw underneath. She could smell spoilt meat, old blood, cracked bones. She waited, wait-

NOW! She lunged forward, wand driving for the mouth. 'LUMOS MAXIMA!'

The thing squealed, hands thrashing. Hermione couldn't let herself stop, not for a second. 'REDUCTO!'

The head exploded. The body seemed to go on and on. Beside her, Sirius as Salazar flew forward, baying with rage, and grabbed the ragged cloak of another. Hermione jumped toward it and shrieked a spell, the first she'd ever taught herself.

The ball of flame looked puny, even as hard as she'd conjured. But the cloak caught, and the Dementor, wreathed in flames, fell back with a ghastly mewling sound that was more felt than heard.

Hermione felt a hand clamp on her arm, and spun a second too late. It was almost on her. She screamed. She didn't want to die this way. It was too close, the choking coldness freezing her, the smell cutting off her air.

Rinky flew at it, screeching, and conjured a burst of light that seared Hermione's eyes. The thing grabbed for him and Hermione blasted at it, half-blinded by the light her elf had cast to protect her. She stumbled, and that quickly, another Dementor was on her. She felt the cold hands on her head and raised her hands, knowing it was too close, too close, too-

Hermione never saw Barty move, except, faintly, the glow of his white shirt as he leapt at the Dementor, wandless and shouting. 'NO NO NO YOU LEAVE HER ALONE!'

The Dementor turned on him, mouth open and eager. And then a strange thing happened, one that, despite their best attempts, they could never quite explain using actual magical theory.

More accurately, what happened next was impossible. Utterly, but that didn't mean that it didn't happen. Just that they could never reconcile the reality with the theory many of them had devoted most of their adult lives to.

Suffice it to say that, without quite knowing how, the people on the patio watched as Barty Crouch performed perhaps the greatest act of wandless magic the world would never know about.

Which is to say, as the thing battened on him, Barty seemed to jerk, and his skin took on an eerie, bluish radiance. The Dementor shrieked, a super-sonic noise of pure agony, flailing as Barty's skin glowed fiercely, and sent it reeling back.

The glow was spreading out, encasing them. The cold was receding in the face of it, the Dementors making those unbearable shrieks as they flew off into the sky.

Mother, who was using her fire-whip to fling Dementors into the ruined roses, froze, and the others, until the only sound was the endless screeching as the Dementors made good their escape, leaving only the stench of burnt corruption and the blighted landscape behind them.

Barty dropped, blood gushing from his ears and nose, mouth open, eyes staring. He was twitching weakly all over. Sirius-Salazar came to his side and barked, and Snape, shaken from the effects of the weird magic, dropped down.

'He's alive but he needs to go to St. Mungo's. Apparate us, Malfoy.' Uncle stepped forward and the three were gone in a flash. The others pulled together, shaking and sick.

In the quiet, the sounds from the house carried. Footsteps, coming closer. The group formed up as efficiently as if they'd trained for it, combat ready almost without thought.

The voices were nearly on them. Hermione thought some of them sounded familiar but not placeable, like she'd only met them briefly. But where?

'If the women are left-'

'I wouldn't mind a go at the Malfoy woman, she's always had a nice mouth. Might look nicer wrapped round my cock.'

Hermione saw Draco's face reddening. Uncle Rabastan seized his arm, squeezing, and Draco subsided slightly. Hermione slid through the ranks so she was next to her husband, who was similarly red, similarly enraged.

'And that little Lestrange girl. Always did want to fuck a high-class bint.'

They kept it up as they got closer, clearly expecting to find them all either dead or missing their souls. The family spread out, ready for them. Beside her, Viktor was taut, knuckles white as they clutched his wand.

They opened the French door. 'What the fuck is-'

He never finished. Hermione snapped her wand and he was thrown back, chest a wet red ruin, gasping. The others let fly and the battle was short but vicious. Before it was over, four of the five were dead, and the fifth was trussed like a turkey, lying on his back, frozen. His eyes were wide with fright, and he smelt like fear-sweat and urine.

Draco went over and looked down at him. 'You insulted my mother.'

The eyes darted, and the smell of urine was joined by something hot and heavy and gagging. Draco didn't seem to notice. He was smiling.

Draco raised a booted foot and brought it down into the man's groin. The man's face went violently red, the cords straining on his neck. Draco didn't even look back. He rejoined the group without comment, registering no reaction at all.

More voices. Levitating the bound auror behind them, Father and Mother led them toward the parlour, where the Floo was. Hermione had just killed a man, and she realised that it didn't feel like very much to her at the moment. Would it ever? She hoped so.

'Hands up!'

They did. Llewellyn Rice was looking at them, and a man Hermione thought was Limpkin, the one who looked like a librarian. 'Boss? Oh, thank God.' Rice nearly stepped toward him and checked himself at the last moment.

'Rice? What is this?'

Rice's hands were still in the air. ' Dementors are coming, lots of them. Wanted to warn you.'

'We know.'

'You do?'

'They came. We fought them.'

The Snatchers relaxed as one. 'And those blokes they sent?'

'Dead.'

'Shite' said Rice respectfully, and then dipped his head. 'Sorry, ladies.'

Father was very pale. 'We should discuss this.' He warded the Floo and the group, enfolding the Snatchers just in case, moved into the other room, trying to figure out what had happened here, and what it might mean.

To Snape's annoyance, Tamm glommed onto him as soon as he was back, starting by, inconceivably, throwing arms about him the second he had both feet in the Manor, nearly tackling him.

As past experience had taught him, there is no graceful way to disentangle a child, and so Snape was compelled to tolerate being hugged. Tamm stepped back, wiping his eye (the tear duct in the ruined one was gone and couldn't be fixed). He looked very young and very small, but when he spoke his voice didn't shake.

_'*Mr. Sirius Black sends his compliments, sir, and asks you to follow me.*'_

Perfect. Snape couldn't precisely blame Black for blowing his cover this time, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about it. Tamm was leading him deep into the house, head moving as he tried to watch both sides with only one eye.

_'*Is Barty all right, Professor?*'_

_'*He is alive, Tamm. That's as much as we can ask. Who brought you back?'_

_'*Drago. They needed a messenger. How did Barty drive off those Dementors?*' _

_'*I don't know.*' _And why did they need a messenger?

_'*Oh.*' _

Tamm seemed nonplussed that Snape didn't know something. Snape would ordinarily have given someone's ears a blistering for telling tales out of school, but in this case, he rather understood. It would hardly be a bad thing for Barty to have his own fan-club of one, besides.

He slowed down a little. '_*It's bad in here, Professor.*'_

Snape started to query him when the door swung open. He bit down on a startled expletive. It was both grotesque and almost comical in the particulars, which simply added to the horror of it.

There were elves everywhere, and most of them were dying. The were stretched out on every flat surface, covered in a strange assortment of clothes. The few healthy ones-he saw his own Mippy, Eugenia's maid and Malfoy's valet-circulated, bringing water and more blankets and whatever else.

The dying ones laid still, skin a horrible grey-green. Some of them talked softly, lost in the throes of delirium, and some simply drifted off, little hearts unable to cope with the strain. A few, de-souled, stared straight ahead, pupils fixed.

His eyes went to the loveseat, and the people on it. The girl was hunched over a bundle in her lap, tears running down her cheeks. Her mother and aunt were flanking her as she rocked. Oh, no, no...

'Her elf' a voice very close to his ear said 'Rinky.'

'Dead?'

'Dying.' Black moved so Snape could see him. He looked none too well himself. Probably the Dementors had shaken him-they scared people who hadn't spent ten years in Azkaban, after all-but he was remarkably composed all the same.

'Kreacher?'

'Alive. He stayed to defend the Embassy in case they tried to attack there too.'

'Did they?'

'No, thank God. Not yet.'

Snape nodded and caught sight of his godson. Draco, too, was sitting with an elf, holding the little hand in his. His eyes were red, but the look on his face spoke more of rage than hurt. One had likely disguised itself as the other, thought Snape, and resolved to deal with it at some point, before the boy got hurt.

Rabastan approached them both. 'Barty?'

'Alive but deeply asleep. He should be awake tomorrow.'

'Is he...will he be all right?'

'Yes. He was a very powerful wizard, Rabastan. His body can handle that sort of strain, even now.'

Rabastan nodded. 'I'd like to go and sit with him tonight.'

'Let me see what I can do. For now, perhaps you could help me tend the elves?'

If Rabastan minded playing healer to a bunch of dying house elves, he never let on through word or deed. He followed Snape's instructions in making them comfortable and quietly took Narcissa aside to speak about the ones who'd been de-souled.

When she gave him permission, he took the phials of monkshood and dosed them as discreetly as he could, then covered the little bodies, shaking his head. 'A waste' Snape heard him mumbling softly 'a damned waste. All of it, such a waste.'

Draco's mother came and knelt down next to him. Snape could see the boy tense. 'Draco?'

'No.'

'Sweetheart, Tibby is gone.'

'She isn't!' Draco's voice was low but insistent. Narcissa reached up and touched his face lightly with both her hands.

'We have to let her go.'

'She'll cease to exist.' He sounded years younger, a child again.

'No, love. She'll exist in your memories. And we'll be sure to pass the story done. She'll live on in your children and their children, forever.'

'They took her soul...' Draco reached up and wiped his eyes. His mother embraced him, rocking him as Hermione was her elf. Draco pressed his face into her neck, breathing hard. His uncle gently disentangled his hand and took the too-still little body away.

Snape left his godson with his mother and turned away, dreading this next part. Stepping around Tamm, who was helping Rabastan by carrying the tray of potions, he went and slowly approached the loveseat.

'Is there anything I can do?'

The girl's head came up. Her cheeks were stained with tears. 'Professor, you've come.'

The elf, too, turned his head weakly. His eyes were bright, but his skin was a terrible sallow grey, and he moved as though it cost him dear. Very likely it did.

'Are you in pain, Rinky?'

'...no...Master... Snape...'

A lie, but as he said it, the elf's eyes returned to the girl, whose tears were soaking the little tea-towel, the one with the crest on the heart. The elf looked back at Snape in mute appeal, and Snape looked to Bellatrix.

'Go with Snape, girl, and take the elf. He'll do what he can.'

Snape led them to a small, private room with a chaise longue and reached out to touch the elf's neck. The skin was cool and getting cooler. The girl sniffled.

'Rinky? It's all right, Rinky.'

'Yes...Miss...all right.' The elf lolled weakly, trying to comfort his girl even now.

'No, no, I mean, you'll be all right. You'll be fine.'

'Rinky...is happy. Miss...'

The girl's tears came faster. 'Professor, please!'

Rinky tried to raise a hand and couldn't. Snape moved closer. 'Is it time, Rinky?'

The elf looked at him again with pain filled eyes, and Snape decided. He bent his head to the girl's.

'He is in terrible pain but will never admit whilst you are here. Surely his good service deserves the dignity of a peaceful end?'

She nodded and wiped her eyes. Handing the shawl-wrapped elf to Snape, she stood, kissing the elf's bony brow. 'I love you, Rinky.'

The elf's head flopped. 'Rinky...loves...' He closed his eyes and the girl turned in a swirl of yellow silk, stained and grubby now. She didn't look back. Snape had never been prouder of anyone, ever.

He bent to the elf and uncorked the phial. 'It will be over soon.'

'Protect...?'

'With my life.'

'Swear...?' The elf's eyes flickered open. What must it be costing him to do this? Snape couldn't deny him; such courage demanded an answer in kind.

'By my gens and the shade of my mother, I will defend the girl until my dying breath.' It was a serious oath-to break it was to court damnation. The elf's eyes finally closed.

'Good.'

Snape dosed him. Rinky's chest hitched once, twice, and then not at all. Snape bent and listened. Nothing. He gently tugged the shawl to cover the elf's face and arranged him on the chaise longue.

If anyone thought a funeral for a house elf was foolish, no one said anything. The girl carried the little body, dressed in a snowy new towel, to a spot under the roses. Her husband stood beside her with a shovel-whilst Ridgey, the gardener, had survived the fight, he was weak, and anyway, it seemed fitting to honour Rinky's loyalty with a bit of time and pain.

Krum dug a quick, deep hole, and they laid him in, taking time to see his limbs were well arranged. The girl wasn't weeping, but she sniffled as she threw in the first handful of dirt and Krum intoned something Snape presumed to be a prayer, hastening the little elf's rebirth as a human. Or something else, but the idea was sound.

The moon was rising. It seemed like it was years ago Snape had been sipping tea in his house, reading one of the dog's stupid paperbacks. He felt a million years old.

'We'll need to meet about this, and soon.'

'Yes, of course.'

The girl said it. Krum hadn't said a word for some time, aside from the prayers. Snape wasn't worried much. Anyone projecting as much pure rage as the boy was probably wasn't too traumatised.

When they got back to the house, the two went to their assigned bedroom. Tamm stuck close to Snape, and Snape, resigned, finally pulled him into a nearby room. _'*Would you like to talk about it, Mr. Tamm?*'_

Tamm nodded. _'*Yes.*'_

_'*I take it you know about Salazar now.*'_

_'*He's an animagus.*'_

_'*Yes, he is.*'_

Tamm nodded solemnly. '_*After everything that happened today, I feel like that's the least of our problems, sir.*'_

Snape had to force himself not to laugh. '_*Quite so. I take it you had no personal experience with Dementors.*'_

_'*No, sir. I just wanted to tell you that I, ah, I'm sorry.*'_

_'*Sorry? For what?*'_

Tamm looked at his hands. _'*If I hadn't been so slow, we could have got here faster and run away.*' _

He sniffled and dried his eye with his hand. Snape felt a wave of annoyance. How was it he always ended up consoling teary children? He made children cry, he didn't fix it.

_'*You did precisely the right thing. For one thing, if you'd fallen, they'd have lost more time trying to save you, further slowing them. Do you see?*'_

_'*Yes, sir.*'_

_'*All right, then.*'_

Tamm's eye was shimmering. Snape suspected it was as much exhaustion and fear as anything else.

_'*I wish this hadn't ever happened. We were having such a good day.*'_

_'*Hush*_' said Snape, who couldn't deal with another crying child tonight. _'*It was nothing any of us did.*'_

_'*Why didn't they Portkey? Everyone could've made for Bulgaria after the Dementors were gone.*'_

_'*And leave you to your fate?*'_

_'*They'd have come back for me.*'_

_'*They would have wanted to, but once we use the Portkeys, that's it, Tamm. He'll know about them and find a way to block them.*'_

Tamm knuckled his eye. '_*Can we go home soon? To Bulgaria?*'_

_'*I don't know, Tamm.*'_

_'*Professor?*'_

_'*Tamm?'*_

_'*You were all really brave. Mippy said it was really frightening.*'_

_'*It was.*'_

_'*Would you teach me?*'_

_'*Teach you?*'_

_'*To drive them off. The flame thing and the silvery animals.*' _

Tamm had apparently got a run-down of things, and beamed, picturing the ways his life would be improved by one or the other skill.

Snape fought the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes he forgot how teenagers could be...and then Black would remind him. Still, that did leave Tamm.

_'*We'll see, Tamm.*'_

Tamm abruptly hugged him again. _'*I was afraid you'd not come back!*'_

Snape awkwardly patted his back. _'*I shall always come back, Mr. Tamm. And do you know why?*'_

_'*No, sir.*'_

_'*Because Black*' _who'd slipped into the room as Tamm was hugging him '_*owes me money.*'_

Tamm laughed as he left.

Narcissa had never struck Snape as a cruel woman, but she'd promptly shown him her nasty streak when she put him and Black in the same room. Theoretically it was for safety, so no one would be alone, but really, this was sheer sadism.

Snape lay rigidly next to the dog, who was grinning in an especially objectionable fashion. The bed was a valuable antique, like everything else in Malfoy Manor, and they'd dared not split it.

'Do get that smirk off your face, dog, it will freeze that way else.'

'Is that what happened to you, then?'

'Manky plonker.'

'Greasy toerag.'

'Dog.'

'Virgin. You know, for someone without any kids, you're a damned good father.'

'Because you'd know so much about good fathers, Black.'

'No. I know loads about bad ones.'

For that, Snape had no answer.

**Spoiler A/N:**

**Generally speaking, I don't care for death scenes. People in extremis typically don't take time to give long, pretty speeches, or even coherent sentences, but Rinky deserved a send-off worthy of his role.**

**Also, it might seem sort of OOC for Draco to get that upset over an elf. In every universe I write, Tibby was his nanny. She was literally the first face he can remember, and seeing her de-souled was probably pretty traumatic on top of everything else.**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**I've sort of turned round on Rodolphus. Mainly because I perceive he's really trying hard to fix things. That, and he's just too damned cute with Bellatrix :)**

When Viktor told his uncles what had happened, using the embassy's secure Floo connexion (which was actually pretty secure, according to Snape and the people he'd had check it), he had calmed enough to articulate his feelings.

Which was good, because his uncles were not calm at all. Uncle Penko actually had to step out for a moment. Viktor heard something shatter and something else fall over, and his normally refined, jocular uncle shouting words Viktor'd had no idea he even knew.

Uncle Rumen was quieter, but no less angry. _'Dementors.'_

_'Yes, Uncle.'_

_'Poor Barty half killed himself.'_

_'Yes, Uncle.'_

_'This is a serious violation of international law.'_

_'I know.'_

_'We have to tell the other countries.'_

_'I know.' _

_'It will be open war.'_

_'I know.'_

_'God damn it!' _

Uncle Rumen turned away for a moment. Uncle Penko was still shouting and breaking things, but he seemed to have cooled enough to be coherent again, to judge by his lowered volume and the fact the crashes had mainly stopped. Viktor sat back on his heels a moment, wishing he could go to his wife. She was lying in bed at Grimmauld Place, not talking, pretending to sleep.

_'Rinky was killed.'_

_'I'm sorry, Viktor.'_

_'Hermione is not taking it well.'_

_'Not taking it well how?'_

_'She's very quiet.'_

Uncle Penko's head popped back up. '_I_ _don't blame her. That elf was the only constant in her life for how long?'_

Viktor thought. _'Three years? Four?'_

_'Poor thing.' _

Viktor didn't know whether his uncle meant Rinky or Hermione. He nodded, worried and sad. He'd liked Rinky; moreover, Hermione had loved him.

_'It's frightening, seeing her like this.'_

_'She's all right mentally, I take it? Snape's checked her?'_

_'She's fine, Uncle Penko. Just hurting.'_

_'You know about that.'_

Viktor held up the first piece of parchment he'd written. _"We have to go soon- it's not safe here anymore_"

The uncles nodded at once, eyes on the door. The embassy was supposed to be safe, but who could say?

The second piece, after he'd fed the first into the fire. "_I want to bring as many as will come"_

_'Can't_' said Uncle Rumen at once. _'It's illegal.'_

Viktor held up the last sheet. "_FIND A WAY, PLEASE_"

_'Is that an order?'_

_'Yes.'_

Uncle Rumen nodded. '_You know the implications of such a thing?'_

_'I know the implications of what happened yesterday.' _

Viktor spoke a few minutes longer with his uncles about small things and then cut the connexion after the usual bout of promises as regarded being safe, eating properly and making sure to remind Hermione to do the same.

He went to the living quarters. Aside from some elves, he was the only person there. He laid down, reaching for a novel he'd brought left here the last time. It was quite a good book. It was some hours before he heard back, but that was all right.

At St. Mungo's, Barty was awake. He was sitting up in his bed, colouring a picture and waiting eagerly for the apprentice-healer to come round. He'd been promised a treat if he didn't complain about taking his potions, and he suspected it would be an egg-custard, or a boiled sweet. Either was fine with Barty.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps, and what he got was even better, because it was his family, and they were come to visit him. He beamed and held out his arms for Edric, who promptly bit him as soon as he was in range (Edric was still teething). Barty yelped but didn't stop hugging the baby. 'Edric, ouch!'

Rabastan sat down in the chair and took the baby back for a moment, handing her to Zdratza to change.

Eugenia had come too, and Narcissa, and Lucius, and Draco. They spread out, smiling, and sat down. 'How do you feel, Barty?'

'I feel better now you've all come!'

They chuckled. 'We've brought sweeties, too.'

'Oh, good!' Barty carefully set aside his picture and gestured them all closer. Draco came and sat on the bed with him. Rab sat on the other side, and handed him a package from Honeyduke's.

Barty carefully opened it and offered the ladies first. Everyone took whichever sweet they wanted, and it got very quiet aside from the sound of chewing and the hospital noises in the corridor.

'Is everyone all right?'

'Well, no. Rinky-Hermione's elf?-was killed.'

'Oh, no! Is she very upset?'

'She's upset, yes.'

Barty swallowed his sweet. 'Is she going to come here?' He wished he could make her feel better. He'd always liked Rinky, and it was sad that he'd died.

'Probably not today. Perhaps tomorrow.'

Sev came in. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept. Was he afraid, like Draco? Barty could hardly ask, so he decided to wait until he felt better and could get Sev in private. It's what a friend would do, he thought.

'Hello, Barty.'

'Hello, Sev! Come have some sweets, all right?'

Sev came and sat down in the chair Rab had evacuated. He took a sweet but didn't eat it, holding it in his hand.

'Barty? What do you remember from yesterday?'

'The Dementors came and we chased them off.'

'Yes. Do you remember what you did?'

Barty frowned thoughtfully. 'A Dementor was trying to hurt Hermione. I made it go away.'

'Yes, you did, Barty. Do you recall how?'

Barty squinched up his face, trying to make the memories came back. 'I thought about how sad everyone would be if Hermione got hurt, and then I remembered how much fun we had in Bulgaria-we'd go and play with Bess, remember?-and then I tried to make it go away. And it did.'

'You used a happy memory to scare the Dementor?'

'Yes. And I felt-I felt big. Like a dragon.'

'Was it your magic, Barty?'

'Yes. It was **big**, Sev.'

'I believe that, Barty. You used a happy memory and then channelled your magic at the Dementor, is that right?'

'I think it is. Did I remember it wrong?'

'No. No, you did exactly right. Well done.'

Barty beamed, thrilled at the praise. He liked it when Sev was happy with him. He liked it when everyone was happy. He wasn't sure he liked the hospital, but that was all right. Gibbon had said he go home soon, and even if Nomascus was a swot, he was a clever swot, and probably he was right, more or less. About this, not about things that counted.

'Are Bellatrix and Rodolphus coming soon?'

'This evening. You've heard about Rinky?'

'I did. That's very sad. Should I send her a note? Hermione? To tell her I'm sorry?'

'That would be kind of you, Barty.'

So he did. He finished his picture and wrote her a condolence note on it, and by then it was time for potions and egg-custard, and that made him sleepy. He closed his eyes and slept, thinking about elves and how very nice it was to be loved.

At Grimmauld Place, the house was still. In the basement, Rodolphus was still questioning the auror. It was fortunate the house was well sound-proofed. His wife was with his daughter, consoling her in her husband's absence. The squashy cat, Rodolphus supposed, was curled up against her, purring and rubbing.

Rodolphus came upstairs just after the group left to see Barty. He and Bellatrix would make a special trip later to thank their mad friend. Rodolphus stripped off his bloodied clothing and left it in the downstairs bathroom, padded in his smalls upstairs to have a bath.

The hot water eased the ache from his limbs, but not the larger one from his soul. He'd known Hermione was dangerous, but it had stunned him, seeing what she could do up close.

His bath was cold by the time he climbed out and towelled off. Kreacher had left him clean clothes, and he donned them slowly, humming tunelessly. It occurred to him that he was, for lack of a better way to say it, avoiding his wife and daughter.

Could that be true? He had no reticence about killing, certainly. He'd long since lost track of how many he'd killed, but estimated it was probably in the triple digits, if one counted deaths he'd indirectly caused. He slept well at night, on the whole.

He hadn't the night before, to be sure. He'd tossed and turned for hours beside his wakeful wife, until she'd finally rolled over and given him a look.

'Well?'

'I can't sleep, Trixie, that's all.'

'Bollocks.'

'It's not.'

'Is.'

'What about you?'

'What about me?'

'You're upset as well.'

'I can't sleep with you flopping about this way.'

Rodolphus had sat up, flicking on the lights but low, so as not to rouse the house. Bellatrix sat up as well, tugging her nightgown closer to her neck.

'Trixie...'

'Out with it, Rodolphus. Hermione doesn't get this holding it in from me, you know.'

That was true, at least. He wished he could find the right way to begin this, to start their world anew after this latest and most terribly betrayal. If there had been even a flicker of doubt in Rodolphus about the Dark Lord, it was gone now.

So that's what he told her. 'Dementors.'

'Yes, Dementors.'

'How could he have...'

'He's done with us.' Her voice was dry and hard, without sorrow. He had always admired his wife, loved his wife, but now he hated her a little too. How could she feel nothing about what had happened?

'Doesn't it...aren't you angry, Trixie?'

'Angry? No. I was angry in December, Rodolphus. Now I am merely determined.'

'Determined to do what?'

'I will end this. If it kills me, that is fine, but I will end it. We should have ended it long ago.'

'When he sold her.'

'When he stepped over that Potter woman to get to the boy. It was an omen, Rodolphus. There is nothing he would not do. Then and now.'

'I know.'

Her eyes had that hectic fire he so loved. He had seen it reflected in burning buildings, scorched into flesh with magic, under him as he pumped into her the night their daughter was made, made in some bloody bed, made in Darkness and power and, yes, love, the love her father had for her mother and the love they each bore their Master-that-was.

'We helped him.'

'Yes. Bellatrix, may I ask you something?'

'What it is, Rodolphus?'

'If you had known you were in the family way, would you have gone with us that day?'

Bellatrix closed her eyes. She seemed very beautiful to him, fragile yet ardent, the strongest, bravest person he'd ever met. He loved her with the force of the tide, the endlessly vastness of the skies.

'Yes.'

'I regret, every day, every day that we didn't know you were...'

'So do I. If I'd known then what I know now, I would not have gone. But as it was, yes, Rodolphus, I would have chosen him over her.'

He touched her hair. 'But you didn't, Trixie. Neither of us did.'

'We would have.'

'Yes, we would.'

He touched her shoulder and she let him. Rodolphus couldn't look at her. They'd said it, finally. The depths of it could be dealt with, because it had been admitted to, and light and air could perhaps do what darkness and airless silence could not.

'Rodolphus?'

'Hmmm?'

'What about you? You don't talk about things.'

'I do.'

'Like what?'

He looked at the duvet. 'I suppose I talk about...'

'Magic, and the Dark Lord, and Hermione, and me. Not about you, never about you.' She reached up and gently poked him in the chest. Her finger was bony and sharp, but he raised it to his mouth anyhow to kiss it.

'No. Never about me.'

'Why not, Rodolphus?'

'I don't know.'

She made a face at him, scrunching her face up in the way he found so endearing. 'Bollocks. Do so.'

'I'd rather talk about you.'

Bellatrix leant over a little, stretching her spine. Rodolphus ghosted his fingers up her spine, feeling the bones, fragile as a bird's. She didn't react, perhaps seeing a past self and a chain of things she wished she could undo. Rodolphus wished he could undo them, for her and himself both.

'Why couldn't you sleep, Rodolphus?'

'I don't know what our next step is. How do we...what is there for us now, Trixie? This was the only place in the world we belonged.'

She looked him in the eye. 'I don't know. We'll find something.'

'No. I mean, yes, of course, but Trixie, I'm not sure...I don't know what's normal anymore.'

She nodded briskly. 'One thing at a time, Rodolphus.'

'And Hermione...I love her so much, Trixie. But I'm afraid. For her, and...of her, a little.'

'She'd never hurt either of us. You know that.'

'No, she wouldn't. She's strong, Bellatrix. Powerful.'

'We knew that, too.'

'Yes, but this was not-what have we turned her in to, precisely?'

Bellatrix laughed a small, bitter, hurting laugh. 'Don't you see, Rodolphus? We've turned her into us.'

Now, dressed and freshly splashed with cologne, Rodolphus padded down the corridor and knocked on the door. It opened, the ancient Black elf bowing him inside with a look that implied that he held Rodolphus personally responsible for whatever was brewing inside.

Bellatrix was half sitting against the headboard, one hand resting protectively on Hermione's back. His daughter was asleep, fat familiar indeed curled up next to her. Her breathing was deep, and she was making a soft huffing sound, like it was a struggle. Rodolphus moved closer, concerned.

Bellatrix snapped her wand and encased Hermione in a Silence-bubble. Rodolphus sat down on the bed, careful not to jar his sleeping child. His wife was looking at him with her endless eyes.

'Trixie? Is she all right?'

'No.'

Her hand was caressing Hermione's back steadily. Her sleep was clearly shallow, face swollen with weeping. Rodolphus summoned a blanket from the chair and spread it on her, lest she take a chill.

'Is she sick?'

'No. Just sad.'

Rodolphus wished his wife was a bit more communicative sometimes. Hermione stirred, nestling into her mother's lap, holding onto her even as she slept. Bellatrix kept stroking, making a soft toneless hum as she did.

'I've never known of her to...'

'That elf was special to her, Rodolphus. Her oldest friend, I think.'

'Well, yes, but-'

'Her last link with them.'

'The muggles.'

'Yes. He took care of her before we could be trusted.'

'She told you all this?'

'There was no need for her to. I'm her mother.'

'I know. What can I do?'

'I need to use the WC. Would you mind taking her?'

Rodolphus carefully steadied his daughter as his wife climbed slowly out. Hermione mumbled and shuddered, feeling her mother stand up. He'd never seen his child so nakedly vulnerable. It was oddly frightening; she'd always been so self composed and hardy, seemingly untouched by the slings and arrows of life.

'Shhhh, love, shhhhh.'

'Father?' He flicked to remove the bubble when he saw her mouth move.

'Yes, shhhh.'

Her eyes opened. 'What time is it?'

'Doesn't matter. Do you need to sleep a bit more?'

She shook her head and sat slowly. 'No, Father.' Her eyes were swollen, and she reached up and brushed her face lightly, itching a bit. Rodolphus knew how prolonged crying could make a person's face ache and burn, and he reached out slowly and cupped her cheek.

'Love, what do you need right now?'

Hermione registered surprise at being asked. She sat back slowly, rubbing a kink from her neck with one hand.

'I-I don't know.'

When had he last asked her that? When had anyone, in reference to emotional rather than immediate needs? He wondered where to start and decided, Barty-like, that the direct approach was best.

'I'm sorry, love.'

'I am too. He was a very good elf, you know.'

Rodolphus nodded and smoothed her hair. 'He was, wasn't he? He was the first person you'd met, that day, wasn't he?'

'No. No, I think I met Mother and yourself first. But only for a second.'

'Uncle took you to that classroom and Rinky was there?'

'Yes. He and the others came to defend me. I'd never seen an elf before. I thought he was silly looking. Those big ears and all.'

'He took care of you during the fighting?'

'Until I got out, he did.'

Rodolphus kept stroking her hair. It seemed odd to him, this intimacy, both right and foreign. It could have been like this, he thought, every day. She could still be living at home, and not married, and we could see the Malfoys every Sunday for lunch, and go to France on holidays. If only...

'He must have been a very brave elf.'

'He was. He made sure I was safe from the Dementors during the fighting. And the other elves did too, I mean. I tried to run and he came with me, before Scabior got me.'

'Later?'

'No. I was in the kitchen, and then I slipped out. Scabior came for me before I got very far.'

Birthdays, thought Rodolphus numbly, the slow, burning sadness radiating from his heart. Christmases with Rab and Evan. Trips to museums. So much is past now...

'I would think it was very hard to lose Rinky after you had so much history together.'

Hermione nodded, tears beading her lashes. 'Yes. Everyone from before is gone now.'

'Not everyone, darling. You aren't.'

'No. No, I'm not.' That seemed to make it worse and not better. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms round them, folding in on herself. Rodolphus had never seen her anything less than cheerful-even chipper-and brave.

At one level, it was actually sort of reassuring. Hermione, in spite of everything, was still fourteen, and badly needed care and reassurance. At another, all he could feel was self-disgust. The fact he'd only seen her this way once implied there was something wrong, a lot of things wrong, with their relationship.

'It's all right, darling.'

'No, it isn't! It's not all right at all!'

How did he answer that? What would Lucius do, aside from saying something dryly witty? Rodolphus liked dry wit, but this was not the time, he suspected. Instead, he touched her back gently, rubbing a bit.

'Good girl, Hermione.'

She raised her head, clearly confused. He kept rubbing. There was so much of Trixie in her, but perhaps there was some of him, too, something that would help her understand how much he wished every single day he could fix what had happened, how much he loved her.

'You won't feel better if you don't talk about, hmm?'

She tensed. 'No. Don't want to.'

'It will hurt more to keep it in, darling. Really and truly.'

Hermione didn't answer for a long time, just curled into herself like she thought it would be safer. Probably she did, he thought. Why should she ask him? He hadn't protected her very well thus far.

'Everyone I love leaves me.'

Rodolphus couldn't exactly refute that. Instead, he tried to find a way to make it sound a bit better than it was. He was good at that, but he sensed he couldn't exactly convince his daughter it was true.

'You've lost a lot of people, Hermione.'

'I've lost everyone, over and over. I don't-I can't keep doing this.'

'Not everyone, surely?'

'Don't, Father. I'm not eleven any more.'

'Explain what you mean, love.'

'I lost everyone the first time after I was born-you and Mother, Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius, Uncle Rab. When the Dark Lord came, I lost my muggle parents, and our home in Darlington. I lost Hogwarts to go to France, and my friends there. Then Beauxbatons, and my friends there, because I had to leave in November. Yseult, because she stayed at school. I got married, so I lost everyone here again. Now Rinky. Who will I lose next, Father?'

Put like that, it made sense she was taking the elf so hard. He would have given much to have answers for her, but he had none. Once he would have been comfortable with that, because surely the Dark Lord would have, but that time was past and would never come again.

'I don't know, darling.'

Hermione was crying again, hard. She laid down, knees to chest, and ignored him, cringing from his hand. He let her. It was better for her to finally let go, purge this a bit, before it was too late and the feelings became part of her internal world, like bugs trapped in amber.

'Why did you go? It wasn't right!'

Rodolphus's heart slowed in his chest. He'd told her to talk about her feelings, and he'd known it would hurt. It did, both of them, but it struck him then that perhaps that was all right, that sometimes the cure hurts as much as the wound.

'Sweetheart, I ask myself that every day. I don't have an answer, truly, I don't. But you are the best, most wonderful thing in my life, and I would never, never hurt you on purpose.'

'You hurt Neville's parents.'

'Yes, love. I did do that.'

She seemed to want to hear him say it, more than actually talk it over. That was good. He couldn't handle all of it at once. He'd go mad, really go mad. She stayed curled up but something loosened a shade.

'Why?'

'We thought they knew where the Dark Lord was. We were-it would not have been wise not to look, had it been a test of our loyalty.'

'You were afraid of him, Father?'

'Afraid? Yes. And no. We loved him, Hermione, so much. But he could be cruel, even then.'

'If you'd known about me, would you have still wanted to go?'

This was surely punishment for his sins, having to explain those sins to his child, who was smart enough to know when she was being lied to and good enough to object. He searched his memory for something that might help her understand and found it empty.

'I would like to tell you no, love, on my soul. I don't know the answer to that. That's the truth.'

She nodded once. 'What about Mother?'

'You'd need to ask.'

'She'll get angry.'

'No. It's time, I think, for us to talk this over.'

She nodded again. 'It will be hard, Father.'

'It will be very hard. But that's all right, Hermione. The best things are.'

Bellatrix came back in, carrying a plate of food and with a fierce look on her face. 'Girl, you're going to ea-What have you done, Rodolphus?'

'It's all right, Mother. We were talking. It was hard.'

Bellatrix handed the plate to Rodolphus and jumped up on the bed, glaring fiercely. 'If you have upset her, Rodolphus, I will poison you.'

'Mother!'

'What?'

'You can't just threaten to poison Father.'

Hermione put her arms about her mother and pressed her face into her neck, sighing softly. Bellatrix enfolded her, giving her husband a dangerous look.

'She's been doing it for years, Hermione. I'm not too afraid.'

'I'm biding my time, is all. You'll see, someday when you least expect it...' Hermione was giggling softly, voice rough and hoarse from crying.

'I never threaten to poison Viktor.'

'You might consider starting. It keeps things exciting.'

'Bellatrix!'

'Mother!'

'What?'

'I threaten to have Crooks gnaw on him from time to time.'

'Good, good, that's a start, girl.'

'Hermione, darling, don't take marital advice from Mother.'

'This is girl talk, Rodolphus. You don't get a vote.'

The three of them laughed again before the hard work started.

Viktor didn't get home until quite a bit later. He went to the bedroom (not the Master bedroom; Hermione had wanted to be in her parents' bedroom, which held fewer painful memories of Rinky) and knocked, and was bidden in.

The three Lestranges were sitting up in the bed. Viktor joined them, sensing something important had happened and content to wait. If Hermione needed some private time with her mother and father, that was perfectly fine.

Nearly as soon as he was settled, Kreacher opened the door again. Drago bowed to the ladies and handed a rolled parchment to Hermione. 'Barty sends his regards. He misses you all very much.'

'We're going to visit him later, your aunt and I.' Father was sitting next to Mother, with Hermione facing them.

Drago sat down. 'I've promised to go back directly. Just need some books and things to keep everyone entertained.'

Hermione unrolled her parchment and read it aloud.

"Dere Hermynee,

I am sorey to heer your Rinky dyed. He was a good elf. He was nice to me. Pleze doant to be sad. He is in a beter plase. I will mak oferings for him. Would you lik my old elf Winky? She is very nice. I would like you to haf her.

Yor friende,

Barty"

Hermione had tears in her eyes as she set the parchment down. Barty had drawn a picture, Viktor noticed. It was crudely linear, smeared, childish, but still compelling. Rinky, a big smile on his face, danced in a meadow with Hermione and Barty, who was holding Edric. The sun was shining down. The sun, too, was smiling.

From anyone else, the offer of a new elf would have seemed the rankest and most callous of responses. From Barty, it seemed like a sign life would go on. Rinky, thought Viktor, must surely approve of something that would help Miss feel better and give Master Barty joy.

'Barty set great store by that elf, Hermione.' Mother looked strained, sad. It must be hard on her, seeing Hermione this way, even as it was hard on Viktor.

'I know.'

'No one will make you accept, love.'

'I know. I will anyway.'

'That's a good girl, Hermione.'

Viktor touched his wife's cheek gently. _'News from home_.'


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Snape quotes GRRM. I'm quite grumpy with how the fifth book turned out, incidentially.**

In Wales, Sirius Black sat down on his haunches and ignored the scrawny yellow camp dog flirting with him. He could still hearing screaming from the tent, and the overwhelming stench of the latrines was making his eyes sting.

The camp dog edged closer, wagging. Sirius bowed politely, and explained with a few subtle gestures that he had a female, thanks, but if he hadn't, he'd definitely mate with the camp dog. Human or canine, it was only gentlemanly to pad the rejection.

The camp dog politely backed off. Sirius slowly crept closer to the tent, head to the ground. He could smell Rowle's fatty, musky trace and Travers' higher, more astringent one, and some other ones as well, ones he didn't know as well. He thought one was a Carrow, and another was possible either Avery or Dolohov.

'IDIOTS! YOU SAID IT COULD NOT FAIL!'

'My lord, please, your servants beg-'

'BUNGLERS! USELESS FOOLS!'

'My lord, this whole incident was ill-advised at best. The Bulgarian holds little threat to us. He is of more use alive than dead.' False-Mulciber's deep, warm brogue. Sirius doggy-smiled. He wanted Kingsley to succeed at this more than nearly anything.

The Dark Lord had the glowing, sweaty smell that puberty gave young men. He paced closer to the wall, his smell waxing and waning, waxing and waning. Sirius fought the urge to snarl and pounce. The Pack had been threatened, and it took Sirius's whole human mind not to attack this threat and rip it limb from limb.

'If nothing else, your lordship, it would behove us to divide and conquer.' Definitely Avery, then. Sirius edged slightly closer. The Dark Lord was silent, waiting for him to elaborate. Then he did, and Sirius was pelting across a field in dog form until he'd found a cave. He Apparated himself, nearly falling on the carpet of Spinner's End in his haste.

Snape looked up from his-Sirius's!-book. 'What the hell do you think you're doing, dog?'

Sirius told him and Snape leapt up. 'Hurry, then, we need to get to him before they make good the threat.'

An elf popped in with a letter. It was already too late.

It seemed to Kreacher that every time the door opened, something worse happened. He had come to dread it. It, and whatever was coming. He set down his roasting pan and dried his hands on his towel as he came from the kitchen.

Master Rabastan Lestrange lurched in and sat heavily. Kreacher was half afraid he was ill, until the man gestured him closer. 'Call the family, Kreacher, hurry!'

Kreacher did it. Even the young Mistress, who'd been listless and quiet for the last two days, came down, hair undressed, lips colourless. They clustered in the parlour, Master Lucius Malfoy watching the door.

'They've taken Barty!'

'**What**?'

'His lordship is sending him to live with the Carrows after all.' Master Rabastan Lestrange's voice was dull, his eyes shocked. There was an immediate hum from the others, including Kreacher.

'They can't take Barty, it will kill him!' Mistress Eugenia Lestrange was getting pinker, not paler, but overall the look was the same.

'I know.'

'Why did they...what is this?'

'Rowle says it's because they think it's too stressful for him living between two countries.'

'Rowle again.' Master Rodolphus Lestrange's fists were knotted. He freed one to scratch his beard in an angry, distracted way.

'I think it's that they're afraid he'll protect us if something should happen again.'

'They mean to be sure he can't.'

'Yes' said Master Rabastan hollowly, and slumped down in his chair, looking ready to cry.

'**No**.'

The young Mistress stood up straighter. Her eyes, so like her father's, took them all in. The air seemed to change subtly, charged with power that was emanating from her in waves.

'Kreacher, send a note to Professor Snape asking him to come here and then draw me a bath, please, and prepare my formal robes. Kippy' Master's valet 'do the same for the Lord Protector, please, including his chain and my orders. Aunt Eugenia, may I borrow Gemmy?'

'Yes, of course.'

Mistress smiled her thanks. She seemed very calm. 'I am **done **with losing people I love. Drago, get dressed and get Paavo on the Firecall at the Embassy, please, we might well have need of him before tonight is over.'

'Hermione, what are you up to?' Mistress's father stopped scratching and studied her closely, concerned.

We're going to invite the Dark Lord to the Embassy after we consult with the Professor. He's been illegally holding a Bulgarian citizen on British soil for most of a year. A trade in kind might encourage us not to let slip about that incident with the Dementors, mightn't it?'

'Barty for my father?' Master was studying her, curious but not angry.

'No, Viktor. Barty and Edric for our silence. For now.'

Master Rabastan Lestrange stood up and went to his niece. His arms went about her.

'Darling, I-that is so brave of you, love, but he will never let Edric go.'

'He will. If you'd rather he'd stay with you, Uncle, we'll respect that.'

'No' said Mistress Eugenia Lestrange at once 'take him. I trust Lyudmilla and Sose with my life.'

'If you can take him, take him.' Master Rabastan Lestrange hugged her, hard, and said something to her that the humans couldn't hear. Kreacher was not a human, so he heard clearly.

'You are the bravest girl I know.'

Kreacher would have disagreed that Mistress was a girl, but other than that, he approved wholeheartedly. And wondered whether anyone had noticed that when she'd spoken to her cousin, she'd Bulgarianised his name.

Snape had bowed himself into the presence of the Dark Lord not five minutes earlier. His hard face was set in lines that showed how unhappy he was, and he was mentally prepared to verbally (and physically) eviscerate whomever he needed to stop this.

'My lord?'

'Severus, I take it you've heard about the...unusual incident two days again in Wiltshire?'

'I have, my lord.'

'Your thoughts?'

'An unfortunate accident, surely, my lord.'

'What makes you say that?'

The Dark Lord had a smirking, smarmy look that Snape liked not a bit. He forced himself to look interested and curious, rather than livid. It was hard, even for him.

'Your lordship's excellent judgement in all things. Releasing a magical creature rated amongst the most dangerous on a foreign head of state would indicate a person of lesser intelligence and instinctive cunning was behind it, my lord.'

'Quite so, Severus. We are most displeased by this whole thing.'

'I do not blame your lordship. It was ineptly handled. Surely the Bulgarian might be made to see your lordship's might without such a vulgar, potentially dangerous display.'

'We thought so as well. We will chastise Thorfinn soundly for this, never fear. We do, however, wish to have Barty Crouch moved. We are disturbed by this sudden flare in his abilities.'

'Barty was always powerful, my lord. His affection for the Vicereine simply caused his magic to react. He's a child in every other sense.'

'Perhaps. Or is he simply cunning?'

The Dark Lord thought Barty was slyly biding his time? Barty who couldn't tie his own shoestrings anymore? Who was scared of storms and giggled hysterically at the children's hour on the radio? Snape felt a spike of pure anger at the whole grubby, stupid idea.

'His brain has suffered irreparable damage, my lord. He is mentally seven years old and always will be.'

'Nomascus seems to think the Lestranges spoil him.'

'He is a member of their family, my lord.'

'He is a Death Eater, Severus. It is meet he be treated as one.'

'And they do, my lord. He often instructs the Albanian in your lordship's works.'

'If he is an idiot, how is it he can do that, Severus?'

'He loves your lordship dearly.'

'We shall see. If he is a child as you say, it's best he be kept away from those foreigners like it is.' The Dark Lord sat down. He slouched, setting Snape's teeth on edge.

Snape would have to find an answer to this, and quickly, before Barty mysteriously died in his sleep. Abruptly an elf popped in, bowing. 'Amycus Carrow is on the Floo, Lord Master.'

'What does he want?'

'Says is about Master Barty Crouch.'

'Put him through. Severus, come and help Us figure this out.'

Amycus looked no more attractive via Firecall than he did in the flesh, but that alone didn't hearten Snape. What did was the noise from the background. It was clearly Barty and he was clearly upset.

'NO! WON'T WON'T WON'T!'

'Amycus, what is this?'

'Please, my lord, Barty is very upset. He's been breaking-' as though on cue, a very loud and expensive sounding crash '-all sorts of things, and Allie's half out of her wits with him. What should we do?'

'STOP IT, BARTY!'

'YOU TAKE ME HOME RIGHT NOW, ALECTO!'

'THIS IS HOME NOW!'

'IT'S NOT EITHER! I LIVE WITH RAB AND GENNIE AND EDRIC! YOU BRING ME THERE THIS SECOND!'

Snape bit his tongue. 'Rabastan never had this problem managing him, my lord.'

Amycus turned and shot a nasty look at Snape. 'My lord?'

'Now, Amycus, surely you might manage Barty. He's the intellect of a child.'

'My lord, in just the time he's been here, he's managed to get my wand twice, set fire to the curtains and break most of our glassware.'

'Restrain him, then.'

'We tried that, my lord. He's having bursts of accidental magic. That makes it worse and not better.'

'Put him on. We'll speak to him.'

There was a hush from the other side and Barty's head popped up. 'My lord, the Carrows won't take me home and Amycus called me a nasty name and Alecto pinched my arm, do you see?' He held out his arm, forgetting that it couldn't be seen through the Floo.

'Barty, don't you wish to please Us?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'We've decided you should stay with the Carrows now.'

'No.'

Barty's voice was flat and petulant. It wasn't a tone that brooked much arguing, because it said his mind was made up.

'Barty, it is what is best.'

'No, it isn't! They're not nice!'

'If you behave, they will be nicer.'

'I hate them! I want to go home!'

'Severus, deal with this. We are getting a headache.'

Snape knelt down. 'I will come and see you, Barty. But for right now I want you to go and lie down. You're very weak yet, and all this running about could make you bleed again.'

Barty looked at him with eyes as trusting as Edric's. 'Sev, would you bring Winky with you?'

'We'll see. No more smashing things and no more fires. And no taking wands, please.'

'No more fires.'

'Bartemius.'

'All right, Sev. But tell Alecto no more pinches.'

'No more pinches, Barty. Go on, please.' Barty's head popped out again, like a prairie dog going back to his burrow.

'Severus? Something for Our headache.'

Snape turned, smiling, and gave it to him. When he was done, he thought the current crisis had cooled a bit. Perhaps.

The Carrow house was located on an isolated stretch of land south of London. Snape had only ever been a few times, and an elf had to take him. He knocked, and was bidden inside.

There was broken crockery everywhere. The curtains were singed. The wallpaper was scorched, and there was a tension in the air, like waiting for a storm to break. Amycus, nursing a large goblet of firewhiskey, nodded politely from his chair. 'Snape, hello.'

'Hello, Amycus. How are you?'

Amycus held up a hand with a large white bandage on it. 'He bit me.'

'Barty?'

'Twice.' Amycus morosely drank a little whiskey. Upstairs, Snape heard a door open and Barty's voice, feet pounding on the stairs.

'SEV! HELLO, SEV!'

'Hello, Barty. Slow down, please.'

The thunder became a very heavy rain. Barty came into the parlour and nearly tackled Snape with a hug. Amycus looked uneasily at Barty's darting eyes and general level of excitement and excused himself, mumbling something about a radio broadcast he wanted to listen to.

'Are we going home now, Sev?'

Snape cast a Silencing bubble. 'Soon, Barty.'

'Tomorrow?'

'Probably not that quickly, but I doing my utmost. Do you believe me?'

'Yes! Sev, why did his lordship make me come here? It's wet inside and the carpets are dirty and Amycus and Alecto're both very stroppy.'

'I'm not sure, Barty. You are no one to be calling anyone stroppy, right at the moment, incidentally.'

'They are!'

'Barty, did you bite Amycus?'

'Well, yes. Who else would have?' Barty was looking at him like he'd sprouted two extra heads. Snape pushed down his frustration.

'Why did you bite him, precisely?'

'Alecto pinched me.' He pushed back his sleeve and showed Snape the burgeoning black and blue mark above his wrist. Snape opened his bag and smeared a little salve on it to stop it hurting.

'I know. Why did you bite her brother?'

'She pinched me. I can't bite a lady, Sev. It would be ungentlemanly.'

Snape bit down on his tongue. 'Why twice?'

'Once for Alecto and once because...well, he didn't like it the first time.'

'I should say not. You've never bitten anyone else, that I know of.'

'I did it all the time when I was small. Winky used to say I was all teeth. Have you found her? Winky?'

'I will, Barty. Surely you understand you mustn't bite others?'

'Not usually.'

'Not at all.'

'If they'd take me home, I wouldn't have to bite Amycus.'

'Barty.'

'Sev' said Barty patiently 'if I'm enough of a nuisance, they'll send me away.'

'It would make his lordship very angry.'

'He's being very stubborn about this, isn't he?'

Snape tried not to snort. 'I'm sure he's his reasons. Barty, if we asked something of you, would you do it? And not tell anyone?'

'Not ever?'

'Not ever.'

Barty thought. 'Will I get to go home after?'

'If I can make it happen, I will.'

'Swear?'

'Swear.'

'All right, Sev.'

'I need you to listen very closely to everything you see and hear whilst you're a guest in this house. No more biting. No more fires. No more broken crockery. Just listen. Can you do that?'

'I'll try. You'd best hurry, though.'

'Why's that?'

Barty grinned, eyes bright for the first time. 'I might forget. My mind's not sound, you know.'

Was Barty teasing him? Snape tried not to smile. 'Barty.'

'I know, I know. But they don't know. Do they?'

'No. They don't know, and that's what will help us most.'

Barty nodded. 'No more biting. No more fires. No more broken crockery.'

'No wands.'

'No wands. And find Winky.'

'And find Winky.'

Barty hugged him again. 'Will you stay at Grimmauld Place tonight?'

'Why do you ask?' That was an odd request, to be sure. Barty looked worried, and dropped his voice, looking round.

'Draco has nightmares. If you rub his back, he'll go to sleep.'

'Do you do that?'

'Sometimes. He's afraid, I think.'

'It's all right to be afraid.'

'I know. He doesn't know.'

'He's fifteen.'

'I remember. We where there when he was born.'

'So we were.' Snape patted his younger friend on the shoulder. 'Don't tell anyone.'

'I won't. Make sure they're all right, Sev.'

'I will. Be careful, Barty.'

'Always am.' Barty went back up the stairs at a normal pace, Snape staring at him as he went. Clever, funny, brain damaged Barty. He left without bidding goodbye to either Carrow.

The first thing he noticed at Grimmauld Place was the screaming. As soon as he was in the door, he could hear Edric, howling upstairs like he was in physical pain. The elf came and took his bag from him.

'Is it the baby's tooth again?'

'No, sir. Master Edric wants Master Barty.'

'They've been separated before this, surely.'

Kreacher was moving slowly, his gestures whole conversations in themselves. 'Yes, Master Snape.'

'Would a dose of something help him?'

'No, Master Snape.'

Snape realised he would never win this and went on with things. He asked the elf to get everyone and was bidden upstairs to the Master bedroom. The family was there, with a wailing Edric being passed arms to arms. Nagini was coiled at the foot of the bed, head up, watching with unblinking eyes.

'Severus? Thank God you've come.' Eugenia was holding her child and she rose, jiggling the baby gently. He squalled louder, his voice hoarse from having cried so long and so hard.

'Cousin. I've seen Barty. Everything is well.' He looked at the snake and Hetty stood up. She smiled at him and touched her stomach lightly.

'I'm feeling a touch off. Don't suppose you'd have something for that?'

Snape reached into his bag and handed her a vitamin potion. 'Go and lie down, Madam Feathering, please. I'll want to take your pulse later and such.'

She thanked him and took the baby from Eugenia. The snake slid out behind her, hissing softly. The door shut.

Snape nodded to the elf, who stood near the door to guard it. He Silenced everything and sat in the chair he was offered.

'Barty is giving them a terrible fight. He's bitten Amycus twice.'

'Bitten him?'

'Once because Alecto pinched him, he says.'

'What are we going to do?'

Snape outlined his plan. The group turned as one to the girl, who was sitting on the bed with her husband. She would always be a child to him, but for the first time, he saw how beautiful she was getting, and how unaware of it.

'We've a plan as well, Professor.'

'A plan, madam?'

This was strange. Not bad-strange, because Snape knew damned well how smart the girl was, but strange. Something had changed. She was nearly glowing, Bellatrix-like. It scared him, even as he felt an enormous pride and affection he'd never have credited.

'It seems obvious the Dark Lord will have Barty done in if he stays.'

'Yes.'

_'*The Dark Lord*'_ said the boy suddenly '*_has been illegally detaining a Bulgarian citizen in Britain for six months, Professor. We've decided it's an act of agression.*'_ He was using a sort of modified translation charm, designed to make sure he would be clearly understood.

'And those Dementors. We have that testimony from that man we captured, and Rice.'

_'*Quite so. The international community won't like the Dementors, Professor.*'_

'No' he agreed, a shade uneasy. His little spies, now spymaster and spymistress in their own right, were moving pieces he had no control over but what they'd give him.

'It might be possible to buy our silence for a time, if some conditions were met.'

'Such as?'

'Releasing Barty and Edric into our custody as hostages.'

'Both of them?'

'Yes.'

'What are the consequences you intend to offer as the alternative?'

'Paavo Kask is readying as we speak. The troops could enter British airspace in six hours, once we give the word.'

'He'd kill Barty for spite.'

'Then Barty is dead either way.'

Snape's heart was loud in his ears, and the world was canting nauseously, first left and then right. 'You mean to do this thing?'

'We mean to protect everyone, including the rest of Europe. How long before he decides to set those Dementors on another country?'

Snape nodded slowly. 'I can make him amenable to your proposal, my lady, but I've a counter-request.'

She leant over and took his hand. 'Of course, Professor.' Abruptly, she had ceased to be the Vicereine and was the girl again, the one who looked at him with such frightening affection and trust.

Although Snape never told a soul this, he sometimes dreamt about how things might have gone. Lily, mainly, sitting in the living room of Spinner's End-but different, because she had decorated it and made it soft and pretty-reading a book, Lily laughing beside him in the bed upstairs, Lily chasing an indistinct child through the garden as it giggled and ran to him to be picked up and thrown gently into the air.

Ever since he'd told the girl about her in Bulgaria, Lily had come to him more often as he slept. Sometimes when he woke his pillow was wet with tears. Lately, the child had begun to seem more familiar, a child with a cloud of dark hair and eyes like Lily's. A girl, a child that was both of them and neither of them.

Snape looked at the little hand on his wrist and felt something in him contract painfully. I can only protect her so far, Lily. Help me make her listen to me. Help me help herself.

Then he looked the girl-his girl, the girl that should have been his and Lily's-and steeled himself to be brutal.

'You understand you are trading your father in law and grandmother in law for the other two, don't you? They will never return home.'

She looked to her husband, who nodded once, eyes closed. '*They've made their choices, sir. We're making ours.*'

'Very well. I will invite the Dark Lord to the Embassy three days hence. I need that much time to prepare, it is not optional.' He gave them both a gimlet-eyed stare of disapproval, which they decently acknowledged by looking nervous. Good, good. Snape was getting his edge back.

'All right, Professor. Would you look at Edric? He's making himself sick.'

'I will. He's just upset. Lady Krum?'

'Yes, Professor?'

He found himself gently seizing her wrist to give it a careful shake. 'You will be careful. You will not rise to the bait. Do you understand?'

'I do.' She looked startled at his vehemence, and a small blush spread over her cheeks. He dropped her hand and glared sternly at Krum and Malfoy, both of whom were too quiet for his liking these days.

'And yourselves, gentlemen. There will be no displays of temper, is that clear? If you bend your knee now, you might come up with wand in hand at the opportune time. If you refuse, you will be dead, and no help at all stopping this.'

Both lads nodded. 'Yes, sir, of course.'

'You especially, Krum. He will try to spar with you. Don't. He'll take it out on Barty.'

The oldest of the three nodded jerkily. 'I will do my best, sir.' The girl looked at him, all soft eyes, and a shade of tension left his shoulders. A shade.

Snape glared one more time at his children, the children his choices had robbed him of, and then left with an unusually emphatic billow, just to make sure the message was loud and clear.

In the bedroom, Hetty and Nagini were lying coiled in the bed, having a good gossip. Edric had finally worn himself completely out and sunk into a shallow sleep, breath soupy and hitching.

/_edric-young is better new-sun/_

_/needs barty to come back/_

_/nagini goes and finds barty-young/_

_/no/_

_/edric-young needs him/_

_/we have to pass some suns/_

_/edric-young is sick/_

_/just lacks warmth/_

There was no way to convey sadness in Parseltongue. Hetty sighed softly, wishing she could go and get Barty herself. She felt half-sick at the thought of the poor thing by himself with strangers, and it would make Edric well again.

The door opened. Snape came in without knocking and briskly took her pulse, asking her a series of business-like questions, which she answered. Nagini watched interestedly, sometimes hissing a comment or observation.

_/hetty-speaker/_

_/hetty-speaker/_

Finally Hetty could take no more. She used her wand to close the door. 'Professor?'

'Madam?'

'I've something to tell you.'

'Oh?'

She nodded. 'I found out lately...I mean, I discovered...'

'Miss Gill, would you like a moment in private?' He was giving her that bone-freezing look, and she could feel herself going red as beet-roots. Nagini cocked her head.

_/nagini bites him now/_

_**/no no no**/_

Snape's eyes widened. It was the first time Hetty had ever seen him surprised. 'I see.'

'I'm sorry. I didn't know until just lately.'

He nodded slowly. 'This changes everything.'

'I know.' She looked down at the duvet, feeling small and wretched. Nagini rested her head on Hetty's chest, hissing soothingly.

'It does explain why the snake likes you so well.'

'Yes.'

'Let me think on the implications of this, Madam Feathering. In the meantime, who have you told?'

'No one. I thought they'd be revolted.'

Snape laughed softly. 'Quite the opposite. It's a much-vaunted skill in certain circles.'

'The Dark Lord can do it.'

'So could a few others lines. I assume you to be an offshoot of some line thought dead.'

'Does that mean we could find my parents this way?'

Snape immediately shook his head. 'I doubt very much they knew you could do this, Madam Feathering. It's possible for traits to disappear for generations and then appear randomly.'

'They didn't give me up because of this?'

'Almost certainly not.'

A stone she hadn't been conscious of dissolved from her heart. Whatever had caused her parents to leave her so totally, it hadn't been this.

'They didn't want to be found. I should respect that, I suppose.'

Snape's eyes met hers. They had no pity, but no cruelty either. He was giving her his truth with no embellishments.

'Perhaps they felt the best gift they could give you was their absence.'

'Yes.' That didn't mean it didn't hurt. Snape looked away whilst she pulled herself together again.

'What can I do to help?'

'Keep Nagini company. She certainly loves Edric.'

'Everyone loves Edric, sir.'

'That's true. I shall have to start greeting her equally when I encounter her.'

Hetty giggled a little. 'That too.'

'My compliments, ladies, young Mr. Lestrange. I must go. Eat something, all three of you.'

'Whom may I tell?'

'The usual people, especially Desmond.'

'All right, sir.'

When he'd gone, Nagini slithered over the headboard, cracking her neck human-like.

_/snape-human is afraid/_

_/afraid/_

_/he fears for his young/_

_/we all do/_

Nagini hissed her agreement and stretched out luxuriously, preparing to doze. Hetty snuggled into her coils and closed her eyes for a nap.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**The plot thickens...:)**

Lemuel Scabior was a man who could hate well. He had quite a lot of pet hates, and a few larger ones. He hated hypocrites, people who put on airs, and people who acted like idiots on public transport. He hated waiting in queues for things, goblins on general principle (creepy, they were) and cockroaches.

Mainly, though, his hatreds were reserved for what he thought of as cuntish behaviour. When he'd killed Alin Tugurlan, it hadn't been so much because of Snape's contract, though it had sweetened the kitty nicely; it was because Tugurlan had been drunk and said something crude to Sose Tamm, who'd been too scared to leave her rooms for three days.

Now what sort of bloke, Scabior had asked himself rhetorically, as he'd stalked the man about his rounds on the outer walls of Castle Borev like a ghost, needs to prove how big his cock is by scaring a shy little thing like Madam Tamm?

Scabior hated nasty drunks, having grown up with one. He hated people who had to show how hard they were by hurting those smaller and weaker than themselves, having grown up with one of those as well.

Most of all, he didn't like people who couldn't keep their fucking mouths shut. When he'd heard Tugurlan boasting about scaring Madam Tamm, he'd written Snape and got the reply, along with a hundred gold as thanks. It wasn't a political thing, so it wasn't worth as much, but that was fine.

Scabior had bidden his time carefully. Having brought Alise to visit Aunt Sose, as they all called her, he'd waited for Tugurlan's lurching form to round a corner, and then simply thrown him off the high outer wall and into the dry moat below. It was filled with spikes, and shortly thereafter so was Tugurlan.

It was, he'd judged professionally, a job well done. He didn't kill Tugurlan strictly for the money, though it had allowed him to give Alise a nice sum to shop with (so far as he knew, she'd saved nearly all of in her drawers, proof of her good sense). He'd done it because he thought of it as necessary, like taking out the trash.

It didn't hurt that the others, having made the connexion, feared him a bit more. Most of the wolves were decent enough blokes, thought Scabior, who counted Eugen Arco as a friend these days. Some of them weren't, and it did to occasionally let himself be known to cull the herd of any cruel or stupid sheep.

Now he was thinking about Tugurlan and his bad death as Penko Krum read the letter from home aloud. Scabior's shoulders were shaking. He felt as though he was plunging down with the wolf, into the spiked pit.

'They gots attacked by what, sir?'

'Dementors. A lot of them.'

'They're awrite, yeah?'

'Fortunately, yes, they are. Barty somehow drove them all off. We still aren't clear on that; I might have misunderstood.'

He handed over a sealed parchment. 'This is from Llewellyn-did I pronounce that correctly?-Rice, Scabior. He wanted to speak to you directly.'

Scabior ripped open the letter. A picture of baby Eudora fell out. He looked down. Eudora was his goddaughter, and as cute as a basket of bunnies. He flipped the picture over, hoping Llew or his bird had written a message.

They hadn't, not really. Just Eudora's name and her age, like most baby pictures. He tucked the happily waving baby into his waistcoat, deciding to display it in his and Alise's rooms.

The letter was no more telling. Nettie, Llew's wife, had had a cold but was better, the Harpies were doing spectacularly. There were only two bits that stood out to him, and when he'd finished the letter, he got it at once.

"I'm jealous of you, nice and warm in Bulgaria. It's been awfully cold this whole spring and summer. Wet, too, nothing but fog. The garden is shite, like you can imagine."

"Monroe sends his best regards. He misses being a Snatcher, but it's better for him where he is these days."

Scabior put down the letter, sank into a chair and explained, unconsciously adjusting his hair, which was not quite long enough for a ponytail these days.

'E says it's cold an wet there. Means they're breedin, sir. Monroe was an id'iot used t works fer Lestrange. I sacked im fer gettin stunned, remember?. E wents to work as a guard as Azkaban. It's better there fer im cause they aint there now. The Dementors.'

Krum nodded slowly. 'Do you need a moment, Scabior?'

Scabior felt numb. Rice said it was true, and he trusted Rice. The Boss said it was true, and who was the likes of him to quibble Rodolphus Lestrange?

'Yeah, I reckon so. But you know, Llew is a rite clever bloke. If e says it's like that, oo'm I to say as it's not?'

Llew was clever, too. Well educated and honest and not a hypocrite or a nasty drunk or a woman-beater. Not stupid or lazy or snobbish of any of the other thousand things Scabior could comfortably hate and still have room to love his wife and admire his bosses and enjoy Arco and tease Flower and her Bulgarian.

What did this mean for Scabior? He loved the Dark Lord, who'd given him a life and a place in things. He, Lemuel Scabior, had seen history made under the aegis of the New Britain.

Hadn't He? Had that actually been the Dark Lord? Scabior didn't know. He knew Lestrange, who had lifted him from the gutter and set him above the others, others who were better educated or better spoken or who didn't use their fists to solve every problem. That meant something too, didn't it?

Krum was still looking at him. 'Scabior? Should I summon Yokov now?'

'No. No. I'm awrite. I s'pose...this is war, aint it?'

Krum looked gentle and very sad. 'Yes, Scabior. Soon, if not right now.'

Scabior nodded. The Dark Lord had given them the New Britain, but Lestrange, and his wife and his daughter had given him Bulgaria and a highborn wife and a sense that he was **someone**. What was that worth to him?

'If you shud talks t Lestrange, tells im I'm in. Me an Alise, though I needs to check with er.'

'No one will force your hand, Lemuel.'

'Naw' he said sadly 'they wonts, will they?'

He stood up and bowed. 'I needs t go an talks to me wife, sir. You ave a good day.'

'And yourself, Lemuel.' Krum was giving him a speculative look, but Scabior didn't stop to reassure him. He went back to his flat.

Alise was there, nursing her latest crop of bruises. Just as it would never have occurred to Scabior to take his fists, or even an open hand, to his wife, it would equally never have occurred to him to go easy on her when they duelled. And it showed. She was getting better by the day.

She jumped up, wearing a muggle summer dress he usually liked, and crossed the room to stand eye to eye with him, swishing to restore the translation charm.

'Lemuel, my God. What's the matter?'

'There's bin an attack.'

Her eyes were big and wet, like a doe's. 'What sort of attack? I just saw Pavel this morning, and he seemed fine. Happy, even. He couldn't have-'

'The Dark Lord. E set Dementors on em.'

The glass of yoghurt Alise had been holding crashed down, shattering, splattering her bare legs in white. Scabior didn't even mark it, too agitated to care.

'Are they dead?'

'No, no. Not dead. Thank God.'

She was looking at him, as shocked and incomprehending as he'd felt.

'What do we do now, Lem?'

Lemuel Scabior pulled himself up to his full height, which was exactly as tall as his wife's.

'Dont know fer you, but I'm Lestrange's man. Always ave bin, always will be.'

She sagged with relief. 'Me, too. Hermione's, I mean.'

He kissed her cheek. 'Then I'll writes Llew back, yeah?'

She nodded. 'I need to find Madam Tamm and tell her.'

'You do that, darlin.'

Scabior sat down and wrote his letter. His hand was steady.

Elsewhere in the Ministry, Nicolae Pavel was resting under a small ornamental birch. Two aurors-Bulgarians, and not wolves, to make sure they couldn't compromise him-discretely pretended not to watch him as he sunned, finding his place in his novel.

He smelt the dogs coming before he heard anything, and he bent down as Goose bounded toward him, tongue lolling happily, and Bear, walking stiffly, arthritic now in every joint. Pavel dropped to his knees so Bear wouldn't need to strain to sniff him.

'Hello, boys. How are you today?'

Goose snuffled his hand contentedly and went off chasing butterflies. Bear whined softly and sat slowly on his haunches. Pavel settled next to him. Bear studied him with eyes clouded by cataracts.

'You're waiting for him, aren't you?'

Bear whined again. Pavel could smell his pain-it was red and hot-but something calmer and deeper was underneath. Bear was ready to depart, but he'd wait until his Boy returned to him a final time. They had lived their whole lives together, and now, at the close, Bear wanted his Boy with him so his Boy would not fear, as he did not. Dogs have no fear of a rest well earnt.

Pavel scratched the dogs earn. 'Soon. Soon, I promise.'

The dog whined again, but more softly. Pavel stood up, his superior hearing detecting light footsteps, and bowed to the ladies as they came through the door, heads together, speaking rapidly.

'Good afternoon, Madam Tamm, Madam Scabior. How are you today?'

Madam Tamm's eyes widened, as they always widened. Pavel could smell her fear, yellowish and bright, and turned to one of the aurors. 'Mr. Ivanov, the ladies wish to use this courtyard.'

'Don't' Madam Tamm was visibly afraid 'leave on our account. We can go. Somewhere else, I mean. Don't leave if you didn't want to already.'

'I'm getting a bit of a headache. The sun, I think. Please, enjoy yourselves.'

The aurors were amenable, and the three men trooped back in toward Pavel's quarters, trailed by Bear.

'Damned gracious of you, Pavel.'

'Not at all.'

Pavel might have been a monster, but he had manners, and he thought the ladies were both nice women. It must have taken a lot of guts for them to talk politely to him, given what he'd heard about the atrocities in their respective homelands.

Penko Krum was waiting in his rooms. His brother Rumen was with him, and they both smelt as bad the women in the courtyard had. Penko managed a smile but Rumen just looked at him, seemingly far away.

'Gentlemen, to what do I owe the pleasure?'

Penko Krum was still smiling. 'Romania will never take you back, Pavel, and you know it.'

'In other news, the sky is blue and fire is hot.'

'Suppose we offered you a sort of deal?'

'Suppose I asked what it was?'

Rumen Krum sat heavily in a chair. 'I don't like this. I didn't like it six months ago and I don't like it now.'

Pavel snorted, rolling his eyes. 'And here I thought we'd be married, Minister.'

'You're impudent.'

'I'm angry.'

'Angry?'

'You served your country and I mine, but damned if I got an appointment out of it.'

Rumen Krum was going a surprisingly bright pink. 'You'd compare your band of-'

'Murdering, savage werewolves to yours? Yes, of course. They're one and the same.'

'Our people never-'

'Committed atrocities to end the war? Are you going to tell that to those aurors who had to die so you could take the Ministry?'

'You're one to talk. Which side drove those poor people into the snow to die, again?'

'I never said we didn't. I said maybe we aren't all that different.'

'You knew what Stefan was.'

'As did you, Minister.'

'Shut up, both of you.'

Penko looked remarkably pleasant for a man mediating a fight between a werewolf and his older brother. He looked them both in the eye for a moment.

'Penko, really.'

'If I have to bang your heads together, I'll do it.'

Pavel laughed a little bit. It was actually pretty cleverly done, he thought, making them feel childish without calling them childish.

'Is that the Lord Protector's preferred method of dealing with dissent?'

'No, actually. He suggested sending you to separate corners until you were ready to conduct a parley like big diplomats.'

All three of them laughed a little at that one, even Rumen. 'That does sound like Viktor.'

'Anyway, Pavel, my nephew might well have need of your services.'

'How so?'

Pavel's heart was hammering. For the first time in six months, he felt alive, really alive, at the prospect of doing something useful, something worthwhile. He darted a look at the brothers Krum, neither of whom seemed as enthused as himself.

Penko was still smiling, though. 'We're prepared to make you the deal of a lifetime.'

'Go on.'

Penko Krum, still smiling, did.

A few thousand miles away, the Lord Protector himself was seriously considering banging some heads together, as it turned out. He stood up and paced across the room, swearing in Bulgarian. He hoped Hermione, should she come in, wouldn't understand, but given the way his day was going, he held very little hope.

Viktor stopped as the Floo hissed and Snape came through. His harsh face was set in lines that denoted a kind of contentment, which seemed to be the closest he ever got to genuine happiness.

'Good news, my lord Krum.'

'He finally agreed.'

Snape sank into a chair, nodding once. 'It took some effort on my part, but yes, finally.'

'Vhat are the conditions?'

'We meet on neutral ground. Each side gets no more than four bodyguards. No Death Eaters. No Feathering. No wives of Death Eaters.'

'Nagini?'

'No, she stays at Grimmauld Place.'

Viktor reached for the cup of water laced with headache powders he'd been sipping almost constantly for two days. At least Hermione was better, he reminded himself, even if she was restless and jumpy.

'All vright.'

'Obviously, they will attempt to tip things in their favour, so we must tip it further in ours.'

'Vhat do you propose?'

'Is the Vicereine about? She'll want to hear this.'

'Of course, sir. Kippy, find Mistress, please.'

His wife looked beautiful to him, pink cheeked and wearing an old Bulgarian dress. It was grimy with attic-dust, but it didn't matter. She smelled good, too, clean sweat and dust and perfume.

'Hello, Professor. Have you eaten? We could set an extra place.'

'Thank you, my lady, but I've much to do.'

'Let the elves fix you something, then? You need to eat, Professor.'

Snape looked like he was preparing to start ranting (he was very good at that, Viktor had observed) but then stopped. 'That would be most kind.'

Hermione sat next to Viktor, giving him a wink. Having Barty to save had given her her spirit back, but that alone was sort of worrying. Had she finished grieving, or was this a way to displace her feelings?

He winked back, touching her hand lightly. Snape laid out his plan to them both, and asked for suggestions. None of them heard the letter slit on the front door until an elf brought the letter on a silver tray.

Viktor opened it and felt his eyes widen. The paper was creamy, high quality. It smelt faintly of perfume, something expensive that still managed to smell cheap. He handed the letter to his wife, who read it over and then handed it to Snape. Snape registered no reaction overtly, but Viktor thought he could see small things that said universes; the cock of a brow, the slight tip of a shoulder.

'This could be a trap.'

Hermione shook her head, scarf coming loose. 'No, I think not. I daresay...I think she means it.'

'What makes you think that, my lady?'

'If it was a trap, she'd have given it to Father or one of my uncles. We have nothing to lose by turning her in, but nothing to gain, as well, if there's not anything...anything.'

Snape nodded. 'Astutely reasoned. Lord Krum, your thoughts?'

'Could ve send our friend to vet her? If it's nothing, Obliviate her and send her on her vay. If it's something, she could be of help to us.'

Snape seemed pleased by this. 'Quite so. I'll send him directly.'

Hermione spoke to the elves in Bulgarian, and one of them came back with a small parcel. 'Batnitsa, a bottle of roza and some sweets, Professor. Promise you'll eat it?'

Snape gave her a look. 'You've my word it will get eaten.'

'By yourself?'

'By myself.' Snape looked absolutely sour but Hermione was grinning, and that seemed to leaven Snape's irritation. Viktor's wife leant over and touched his wrist.

'I worry, Professor.'

'I will hardly starve without lunch.'

'I know that. I worry because I care about you.'

Snape made a face, pulling his lip back. 'Surely I've taught you better than that, girl?'

Anyone else would have got hexed for speaking to Hermione that way. Instead, she laughed.

'I could threaten to set our army of werewolves on you, sir, but I thought the velvet glove might be more effective.'

'Acceptable, I suppose, if barely.'

Viktor bit his tongue to keep from laughing. Snape could apparently sense it, because he turned, glowering. The parcel had disappeared into his robes.

'Walk me to the door, my lady Krum?'

She did. Viktor could see them through the cracked door. Hermione was listening intently, nodding, and then hugged the man, head in his neck. Snape stiffened, looking pained, but patted her back and let her break contact.

'My lady? He would be awfully proud of the way you've comported yourself in this matter. Remember that.'

Viktor rose when his wife came back in. She dabbed her eyes with her apron and smiled at him. He bent to kiss her on the mouth.

_'Should I ask, or is it private?'_

_'No. He's going to get Winky. He told me Rinky would be proud we will take her on._'

_'I think so too. He loved you very much, Hermione. He wouldn't want you to be sad.'_

_'I know. It's hard.'_

_'Do you need to discuss it?'_

She looked expectantly at the divan and Viktor sat, pleased when she climbed into his lap and nestled against him.

_'I miss him. But Rinky would have told us to worry about other people first.'_

_'Yes, but he always hated it when you pretended to be all right.'_

_'He told you that?'_

She looked startled, and Viktor poked her in the side gently. His hands hurt from flying so hard on the day of the attack, and he'd given himself whiplash catching Anu. Not as much as Anu had from falling, but still.

_'He didn't need to.'_

_'No. It was easy to tell what he thought.'_

_'That's true.'_

Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. _'Being sad won't fix things.'_

_'It also won't make this go away. We've talked about this, remember?'_

_'I know.'_

He kissed the top of her head. She snuggled closer, breathing in his scent even as he breathed in hers.

_'I have been doing better.'_

_'Much, much better.'_

_'We talked about it the other day. Father and I. Mother, too, a bit.'_

_'What did they say?'_

Hermione shook her head no. _'Not right now, all right? I just want some quiet time right now.'_

Viktor was prepared to agree. Then he felt her hand brush his thigh. He caught it nimbly and gave her a stern look.

_'Hermione.'_

_'What?'_

_'Hermione.'_

_'It was worth a try.'_

He laughed and nuzzled her neck. 'Yes, but I've got a long memory.'

' _But not now, Viktor.'_

_'Tonight.'_

_'Tonight.'_

When her hand brushed against him again, he let it. The elves discreetly closed the doors and made themselves busy in another part of the house.

Severus Snape strode into the kitchens of Hogwarts. He'd seen the Dark Lord, done the requisite grovelling, and arranged the meeting. Now there was this to do, and he wanted as little fuss as possible.

'Master Snape?'

'Is there an elf called Winky here?'

The head elf bowed, and in short order an elf with a strange round nose was pressed forward. She cringed, hiding behind her hands. 'Sir?'

'Your master has need of you.'

'Master, sir?'

'Barty Crouch Jr. He misses you.'

The elf started to sob, and that was answer enough for Snape. He turned on his heel and stalked out, and the elf followed.

'My lord?'

'Hello, Severus. Is this your elf? I could have sworn yours was a male.'

'Mippy is male, my lord. This is Winky, Barty's old nursemaid. I thought perhaps he'd settle down better if he had a familiar face.'

'Very well.'

Snape bowed. It was all set, and once the Skeeter woman had been vetted, things would start to move. He wasn't quite sure where Winky might fit in, but if nothing else, it would assure his mad friend had someone he loved nearby to protect him.

Snape took his leave, the sobbing elf at his heels. His blood was pumping, his head feeling light and clear. He was in his element, and once he'd figured out the Skeeter woman, he'd be on his way to putting out this fire. He hoped.

Rita Skeeter was leaving the Prophet's building when a strong male hand clamped over her mouth and another went round her waist. She stiffened, trying to drive an elbow into his groin, when a voice said 'I'm a friend. Krum sends his well wishes.'

She went limp, allowing herself to be Apparated in the blink of an eye. Well, she told herself, at least it wasn't Limpkin.

Rice took her to some filthy little room and blindfolded her. She allowed it, wondering whether he meant to kill her after all. He put a hood charmed to bloke noise over her head and she felt herself being pushed through a Floo, and then another Floo.

By the time the hood was off, they were in another dingy place, with an important difference, in that the Lord Protector of Bulgaria was there and so was his wife. And, she noticed, stomach dropping, most of the Inner Circle, robed and masked. She could pick out Lucius Malfoy by his tall frame, and she was sure the two nearly identical ones were the Lestrange brothers. The tiny one was Bellatrix. What had she done to herself?

'Good evening, Madam Skeeter. Please don't be afraid, we don't mean to hurt you.' The girl stepped toward her, smiling. Rice had taken her wand, so Rita, feeling naked, extended her hand.

The girl shook it. 'Please, sit down. Something to drink?'

'That would be lovely.' It was like a tea in Hell. Rita bit down on her urge to laugh and accepted the goblet of water. She didn't drink until the Vicereine leant over and sipped from the goblet, handing it back.

Rita was parched, and she drank the whole thing and took the offered refill. 'Thank you.'

'You're welcome. You want to help us.'

'Yes.'

'Why?' This from the Lestrange woman, who took off her mask and came to stand next to her daughter, eyes hard as ice and cold as iron.

'I can't do this. It's monstrous.'

'Madam Skeeter' Rodolphus's warm, interested voice from behind that awful mask 'you understand why we are so sceptical of your interest?'

'I do.'

'Would you elaborate?'

'I'm disgusted by what I've seen.' She told them about her night in Wales and the horrors of finding out about the Dementors. No one said anything until she'd finished.

'You wish to help us because you feel culpable in some way for what's been done?'

'Yes.'

The Lord Protector came to stand beside his wife. His eyes were big and brown, like his wife's, and like hers, were totally neutral. She doubted, if they thought she was playing them false, that there would be any pity there.

'Ve will vant a test of your loyalty.'

'Suppose I agree. How do I know you won't be using me as kneazel's paw?'

Snape, from the corner. 'I'll bind you in an Unbreakable Vow, if you'd like.'

'I would, yes.'

There was a slight but real frisson in the air. 'I'll do it.' Bellatrix.

'Mother, I'd be glad to-'

'No, girl. It's just that I do it.' The woman took off her mask and bent her head to Rita's ear.

'If you let harm come to my daughter, or her husband, or my nephew, or Anu Tamm, I will kill you myself. Slowly. Do you believe that?'

'I do.'

'Good.'

Snape took out his wand and Rita clasped hands with the most dangerous women in Europe. Or the woman who had been, until her daughter married a provincial boyar and helped him remake their world.

Then it was done, and the real work could begin.

That night, a silent stream of elves poured from half a dozen places in Britain and spread outward, sneaking through wards and into houses, manors, townhomes and cottages.

Each of them bore a box in their hands, and the Dark Lord's private crest over their hearts. None of them were stopped or queried by private elves, who saw the crest and retreated. Most of them feared their masters nearly as much as they loved them, and they didn't dare ask the wrong thing.

The recipients found different things in their gifts. Some of them found rare wines, fruits or sweets. False-Mulciber got a large box of eclairs (he couldn't be exempt, lest it draw attention, though Snape expressed sincere regrets), Jugson smoked fish, and Alecto a small container of very expensive hand cream, as the consensus amongst the ladies is that things to make a person feel pretty were always welcome. Travers got a pot of caviar (which Rita obediently ate some of) and an expensive cheese.

Little of this would have been remarkable, aside from the Dark Lord's unwonted generosity, if the next morning hadn't seen the recipients sick as crups. The exact nature of things is not, perhaps, fit for polite conversation, but suffice it to say that none of them could stir from the WC, let alone the house, for days.

Snape was summoned to Hogwarts, where the Dark Lord was having a tantrum about it. He listened impassively as his ostensible master screamed and raged, smashing things, finally sinking petulantly into his chair, arms crossed.

'Who's to accompany Us now, Severus? We can hardly go alone.'

'Might I make a suggestion?'

'We won't have the Lestranges or Malfoy, let Us be clear. They are still being punished for their presumption.'

'Snatchers. One in particular, Llewellyn Rice, strikes me as a man of great discretion and skill.'

'We suppose we've not got a choice. We can hardly bring dear Fenrir, can we?'

'My lord, the Bulgarian is tetchy, and that might well make your lordship's life more difficult.'

'Would We had time to educate him, Severus.'

'He would no doubt be improved for it.'

'Rice, is it? Very well. Him and whomever else.'

'Of course, my lord.'

The Dark Lord sighed gustily. 'We are weary, Severus. So weary.'

'I don't blame your lordship a bit.'

'We would have something for it.'

Snape rummaged through his bag and handed over the phial. It had been a challenge, getting what he needed to look like any of half a dozen innocuous things the Dark Lord could ask for.

The Dark Lord downed the phial and Snape warded the door, summoned the elf to hold up his eyelids and went to work. He was humming a little, feeling better than he had for a long time.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**...And keeps thickening :)**

Cunegarde Lestrange Wilkes Mulciber Lestrange gestured, and her wheeled chair brought her forward so she could speak to dear Walburga. Her friend fanned herself slowly, and waved to Edric, who had traded shrieking for a disturbingly resigned silence.

'Edric, darling heart, give Auntie a wave, like a good boy.'

Edric fussed softly, eyes swollen from crying. Walburga frowned and called Kreacher, who came at once.

'Kreacher, have you been rubbing the baby down regularly with that unicorn root oil?'

'Yes, Mistress. It makes Master Edric cry.'

Cunegarde rubbed his back lightly and the baby sighed and looked up at her pleadingly. Kreacher brought his stuffed kneazle and the baby lifted it, staring at it liked he'd never seen it before. He let it drop, sniffling.

'Misses Master Barty.'

Walburga looked disapproving. 'Removing the poor simpleton from the only people who love him. For shame.'

'Exactly so. Barty is a perfectly nice young man.'

'Devoted, as well.'

'His mother was a Warrington, you know. Cousin to the Warrington who married Abraxas Malfoy.'

'A very sweet girl, as I recall.'

'Quite, quite.'

Cunegarde leant forward a bit more. 'Walburga, I've been thinking. We ought to have you moved. It would be better if you were closer to the family.'

'I chose this spot for a reason.'

'It's hardly fitting for the Vicereine of Bulgaria-and Blacks, and Lestranges-to sit in a corridor like servants. Perhaps you'd feel more comfortable in the parlour?'

Walburga considered. 'It seems more in keeping with good taste, doesn't it?'

'And Hermione's been saying she wishes to hear stories about the Black family. It would be far more appropriate to do that in semi-private, wouldn't it?'

'The bedroom is right out?'

'It's being used. It might make the Lord Protector uncomfortable.'

'The dressing room would be most acceptable.'

'If the gentlemen should need to speak to you, though, and Hermione were there alone...'

'Of course. Ask Sirius procure an easel for me. I shall reside mainly in the parlour, but I'll want to keep my nieces' company whenever possible. And yourself, my dear.' She smiled at Cunegarde and Cunegarde smiled back.

'I saw the girl on her way to that meeting with the boy's father. Were those your earrings I saw?'

'Clovis's diamonds, yes. They look very well on her, Hermione's a pretty little neck.'

Walburga nodded. 'Did it work? She was absolutely glittering.'

'It did, and shall again. Cloth of silver this time.'

'Have Kreacher get my pearls from the vault, they'll be exactly the right thing. Not that I approve of such a young girl in formal jewellery, mind.'

'Nor I, but it's more suitable to her station than anything more modest.'

'Of course.'

They spoke at some length about issues of taste, until Desmond's wife came through, massive snake in tow. She greeted them both politely and explained that she, and the snake, were going to take the air at Malfoy Manor again.

Both old women quite approved. 'A very sweet girl.'

'A bit forward.'

'She was an orphan, no one taught her better.'

'Quite so, Gardie. Kreacher, have you tried bathing Edric in mint and pennyroyal infusion to help him sleep?'

'Yes, Mistress. Sleeps for a little while. Now Master Edric mostly sleeps with Master Draco and Master Anu.' And the snake, of course, but Cunegarde wasn't about to bring that up, thank you.

Both women approved overall, and went back to discussing fashion until Sirius popped in, Mippy holding his arm.

'Hello, Mother, Aunt Cunegarde. How are you?'

'Sirius Orion Black, have you been biting your fingernails again?' Walburga always had had sharp eyes.

Sirius looked down at his hands. 'A bit, Mother.'

'Thirty...what, Sirius? Five? Yes, thirty five years old and still biting your nails. Shame on you. Do I need to have Kreacher put murtlap salve on your nails to stop you biting them?'

'No, Mother. I'm sure it's fine.'

'It's not fine either! How are things?'

'Tense. We meet with...you know...tonight. Well, the kids do, anyhow.'

'Sirius! You mustn't refer to the Lord Protector and Vicereine that way.'

'They are. I could have fathered them both, and the Malfoy lad.'

'Sirius Orion Black, guard your tongue!'

'Mother' said Sirius 'it's all right to act as though I know where babies come from.'

'Not in this house, it isn't! It's not a thing a man ought to mention at all!'

'Well, I myself came from somewhere, apparently.'

'Really, Sirius, what would your father say?'

'He knew where I came from, Mother.'

'Sirius Orion!'

Cunegarde leant over and gave her nephew a sharp thwack on the head. 'Stop that!'

'Ow!'

'Thank you, Cunegarde. What else, Sirius?'

Sirius outlined the general flow of events lately. Cunegarde had to admit, the greasy Halfblood was smart, almost smart enough for him to have earnt a name. Almost. Nothing good comes easily, that was her motto.

' Skeeter? This isn't that cheap looking blonde?'

'The very one, Aunt. She's in a very good position to get us information.'

'Hmmph. See you don't become familiar with a creature like that, nephew.' A woman like that had destroyed her first marriage, not that she was about to mention it. Sirius was young, and he wouldn't quite understand until he was older.

'No, Aunt Cunegarde.'

'How do you feel about this, Sirius?'

'I trust Snape, Mother. He's a bit of a wa-a pill, but he's smart. And he loves those kids.'

'You'll be returning soon to the east, then?'

'Probably, Mother. I'll come back to check on you, I promise.'

'Of course you will. I'm coming with you.'

'What?'

'I've never seen Bulgaria, Sirius.'

'Mother, you're stuck to the wall.'

'I can be moved. Kreacher will pack me for travel. After the visit is over, I mean.'

Sirius looked shocked, to say the least. 'Mother, we need you here.'

'Bosh, you've got Cunegarde. There's a miniature of me in the bedroom-third drawer from the top in the bureau, have your cousin get it. Have them animate it. I'd like dear Gardie to have a souvenir of me.'

'And a pipeline. We can use that to relay messages.'

'Of course we might. There's one of yourself and your brother as well. Take it and wear it, please.'

'I would like that, Mother.' Sirius sounded genuinely touched, and Cunegarde looked away, missing her Aethelfred very much. He'd been dead for over eighty years, and she could still see his face clearly in her mind.

'Of course you would, you inherited your father's sentimental streak. His mother was a Lestrange, you know.'

Sirius laughed and rose. 'I need to go and check on some things, Mother, Aunt Cunegarde.'

'Send Kreacher for an easel for me, please.'

'I'll get what you need, Mother.'

'See that you do. And Sirius?'

'Yes, Mother?'

'Your hair is better this time.'

Cunegarde ordered Linky to put she and Walburga under a Silencing bubble. Walburga was still watching her son go, shaking her head.

'He's a good boy. He's had his problems, but a good boy.'

'Tell him that, Walburga. I wish I'd told my children more often.'

'Perhaps I will, at that.'

What Sirius hadn't told them was that he spent part of his day with the kids, and sometimes they sort of scared him. He'd timed how long it took Hermione to learn the fire-whip trick, and it had taken precisely nine minutes for her to learn it, and another thirty before she'd mastered it well enough to integrate it into her duelling.

Some of it, of course, was her diligence in practicing and the fact she'd been surrounded by the best for years. Some of it was the fact she was a very, very bright girl, and wanted to please her adults. Some of it, though, was simply that she was powerful in a way most wizards and witches could only dream about, powerful in a way that made Sirius both proud and uncomfortable.

He considered himself a pretty good wizard-he could hold his own against Snape, and had come to a draw when he'd duelled Lucius Malfoy for fun back in December-but this was...was... he flashed on the girl disarming him in a single motion the day before and then, blushing, apologising profusely.

The boys were no slouches, either. Viktor wasn't the most imaginative bloke, but he made up for it with pure force and an iron grasp on the fundamentals of attack. He could be formidable in the same way a bear is formidable, dangerous precisely because he seemed so harmless until he attacked.

Draco was exactly the opposite. He favoured lightning quick attacks, keeping an opponent on the defensive until they got sloppy. Of the three, he was the most emotional and probably, if Sirius had to be honest, the one he worried about the most. It was easy to get sloppy if one felt too deeply; of all people teaching Draco, Sirius knew it the best.

They were currently waiting in the basement, sitting on the bench that ringed the room. There was an open box of chocolate frogs between the three, and they were laughing as they ate, teasing one another.

'Hello, Sirius. Come and eat some chocolate with us, if you'd like.'

'You'll never need to ask me twice, darling.' He gave her a grin and popped a frog in his mouth. Honeydukes sent frequent parcels in order to be able to call themselves Chocolatiers to the Lord Protector and Vicereine of Bulgaria.

'It'd be a shame if we had to tell Kreacher, Sirius.'

'It's be a shame if someone chewed up your shoes, Draco.'

'Touché.'

After a few pleasant moments of chat and sweeties, they set to work. Sirius had taught them the motions the day before, and all three lined up. Viktor, surprisingly, mastered it first.

'Expecto Patronum!'

A large, shaggy shape gambolled from the tip of his wand and studied them, tongue lolling. Hermione laughed.

'It's Bess!'

It did look like Bess. Sirius nodded approvingly and waited for the other two. The Bess patronus dashed round the room before it vanished into the air.

Draco was next. He flicked his wand, eyes shut in concentration, and a long, thin shape burst from his wand and resolved into a weasel. No, not a weasel, a ferret.

'Well done, Draco.'

Draco smiled slightly. 'Thank you, Sirius.'

Hermione praised her cousin's patronus but she looked troubled. Sirius put an arm about her shoulders. 'Take a walk with me?'

She nodded. 'All right, Sirius. Don't you eat all that chocolate, either of you.' The last was directed to the two boys, who were making bedroom eyes at the rest of the frogs.

They wandered deeper into the basement, Kreacher appearing behind them. Sirius sat down on a dusty wooden chair. 'Everything all right?'

'Why can't I do this?'

'Hermione, it's hard. You won't be able to master everything right away. You don't hear that much, do you?'

'No.'

'Well, what could have gone wrong?'

'I'm, er, having trouble finding a happy memory.'

'Trouble how?'

Hermione dropped her eyes. 'A lot of them hurt.'

'Sure they do.'

'You, too?'

'Loads of times. But kiddo, you have to push past it. Think of something happy and go with it, no matter how silly or private it is.'

'I suppose.' She sounded like she didn't quite believe him. Sirius bent his head and dropped his voice.

'Know what I think about about?'

She shook her head. He bent ever closer. Sirius grinned, bringing his favourite memory to mind.

'The night Snape decided to call my dog-form Salazar. You know why that makes me smile?'

'No.'

'Because I pissed in his boot after to teach him a lesson.'

Her eyes widened. 'You didn't, Sirius!'

'In dog form, this is.'

'I should hope so!'

She started to giggle. 'I set him on fire, once.'

'You what?'

She explained what had happened. Abruptly, she stopped giggling.

'That was when Harry was still Harry. He was a really nice boy.'

'I've heard that. Still, love, you gave him a lot of joy that day, didn't you?'

'I don't know. It wasn't very nice.'

'You set a professor on fire! If it had been me, I'd have proposed then and there.'

She was laughing again, a little. Sirius wished he could tell her about James and Lily, and Remus. Lily would've liked this girl very much, he thought. Had that occurred to Snape? Sirius thought it had.

'I think I can try again.'

'Do you? That's a girl.' Kreacher was glowering sternly at them. Sirius gave him his best rakish look, which moved the elf not a whit.

'Kreacher? What's wrong?'

'Nothing, Mistress.'

'Yes, it is.'

'Hmmph! Setting Master Snape on fire! Making water in boots! Very naughty!'

'You used to call him Master Halfblood, you manky little berk!'

'Sirius!'

'Well, he did.'

Kreacher pretended not to hear. 'Mistress is not doing such a thing again?'

'No, of course not.' A look crossed Hermione's face briefly, implying she was remembering other fires, but then she seemed to push it aside.

'Good. Kreacher is glad** some **young people are listening.'

'Kreacher, really. I'm thirty five.'

'Master Sirius is always having stubborn, naughty streak. Kreacher remembers one time...'

Sirius hissed a foul word. 'Kreacher!'

'Master Sirius?'

'You know precisely what I mean.'

'Don't either.'

'Kreacher!'

'Master Sirius?' Kreacher grinned at him, and Sirius finally huffed and reached out to touch the elf's bony little shoulders.

'I shouldn't have called you a manky little berk, all right?'

'Thank you, Master Sirius. Now, Mistress, when Master Sirius was three years old, he went into the study, and he-'

'Oi! I apologised.'

'Yes, Master Sirius.'

'Why are you telling this story, then?'

Kreacher shrugged baroquely. 'Good memories, Master Sirius.'

Sirius laughed out loud. 'Well done, Kreacher!' Hermione was laughing too, and so, Sirius supposed, it was all for the best. So long as the little monster didn't tell Snape.

Snape brought Winky later that day. She was still sniffling for no reason anyone could see, but at least she wasn't wailing, and that was something. The girl received her with politeness, but Snape could see a hint of tension in the tilt of her head.

'Hello, Winky. My name is Hermione. How are you?'

Winky opened her mouth and wailed. Snape caught the girl's eye, prompting her to deal with it. He was curious to see what she'd do.

She stepped forward and hugged the elf. 'Please don't cry, Winky. When you see Barty, he'll get upset if you are.'

'Oh poor Master Barty! Bad Winky!' Winky punched herself in the eye. The girl caught the little hand in hers.

'The first rule in this house, Winky, is that there's no hitting. Not ever. Do you understand?'

Winky howled louder, writhing in the girl's grip. She darted her eyes to Snape, who nodded once, encouraging her. You are doing, he thought, so well. Lily, do you see how clever she is? Didn't I tell you?

'Winky, no more yelling, please. I need you to calm down and speak normally.'

The elf did it, drying her eyes on her towel. 'Sorry, Mistress! Sorry!'

'Don't be sorry. We all need to be calm to help Barty right now.'

'Master Barty is here?'

'No. Not right at the moment. That's where you come in. Can you help us help Barty, Winky?'

Winky nodded. 'Yes, Mistress.'

'I know you can. Professor Snape will tell you what we most need.'

After, Snape watched the girl gently fit the elf for a new towel, one with no crest at all on it. In her fresh towel, newly washed, Winky looked far better. The elf had seemingly pulled herself together a bit, as well, looking about interestedly.

'Winky is going to Master Barty now?'

'Yes. Please make sure he doesn't hurt himself.'

'Yes, Mistress.'

The girl tied the belt of matching cotton and smiled. 'There, Winky, very pretty. Send Barty our love.'

'Winky will, Mistress, thank you. Winky is getting anything before Master Snape takes us?'

'No, thank you. Just be careful, Winky. The Carrows are not nice people.'

Winky bowed and waited for Snape to take her. Snape gave the girl another nod. Lily, he wanted to say, would be so pleased with you, child. He left with the elf.

Barty was waiting. He'd been waiting a long time, it seemed to him, but that was all right. Sev said he'd fix it, and that meant he would. Amycus and Alecto both had stomach flu, but Barty didn't. He felt fine.

The Floo went green, and Sev stepped out. Barty leapt up, overjoyed. 'SEV!'

'Barty, shhh, no shouting, please. I've brought someone to keep you company.'

It was Winky! Barty threw his arms round his elf and hugged her, too happy to speak. Winky hugged back, sniffling. Barty was sniffling a little too. He loved Winky, and had missed her.

'Master Barty, Winky is here to help.'

'I know, Winky. Sev brought you. Sev, you did it!'

'I had help, Barty. How has it been here?'

Barty looked about. 'Amycus and Alecto are sick. I think the ancestors are punishing them for being so nasty to a guest.'

'I think they are too, Barty. But they've not pinched you?'

'No. They can't leave their rooms. I didn't make pictures for either of them.' If Barty liked someone, he made pictures for them to cheer them when they were sick.

'I wouldn't. Winky is going to keep you company. What are your rules, do you remember?'

'No fires. No biting. No broken crockery. No wands. Watch and listen. No running on stairs.'

'Exactly so.' Sev Silenced everything and they sat down. Barty had loads of questions for Sev, so he was glad.

'Is Edric all right?'

'Edric misses you very much.'

'Have you taken him for fresh air?'

'Every day. Barty, have you seen or head anything?'

'Rowle came over two nights ago. He's a berk.'

'What was he doing?'

'He wouldn't shake hands with me.' Barty thought that was rude, and also said a lot about Thorfinn's upbringing. He said as much, and Sev agreed.

'Anything else?'

'Jonas comes over a lot. I think he likes Alecto.'

'Do they go off alone together?'

'Sometimes.'

'Have you felt well?'

Barty considered. 'I'm not sick, and there's no blood. But I feel sad, Sev.'

'We all feel sad, Barty. Right now we're finding ways to make sure none of us is sad.'

'And then I can come home?'

'Yes.'

Barty smiled. He liked that idea. This house was always cold, and the roof had holes in it. The carpets squished unpleasantly under foot, and Barty had taken to wearing shoes indoors to make sure he didn't get his socks wet.

'Is Hermione better?'

'She's still having a hard time, Barty, but she's glad you've offered her Winky.'

'Doesn't that mean Winky should be with her, then?'

'No. She said it makes her feel better to know Winky is taking care of you until everyone is back together.'

Barty nodded. 'Are we going home soon? To Bulgaria?' He missed their house in Sofia and being safe and being happy.

'I don't know, Barty. Right now, just keep looking and listening, all right?'

'All right, Sev. Is Nagini still there?'

'She is.'

'Tell her I said hello, would you?'

'I will.'

Sev had to go. Barty wished he wouldn't, but he did have Winky now, so that was something. And he'd get to go home soon, too. He could feel it in his bones.

Winky was crying a little bit. 'Master Barty, Winky is so glad to be here!'

'I'm glad you are, too. Let's go upstairs, all right?'

The room he was in was small and cold and there was furry black stuff on the walls. It wasn't anything like his room at home, but Barty could live with it. He knew Rab and Gennie were waiting for him, and that made all the difference. He laid down on the bed and Winky settled next to him. She looked just like always, and that made him happy.

'Tell me a story, Winky?'

'Which story, Master Barty?'

'Rabbity Babbity.' Barty liked that one. Winky smoothed his hair out from his eyes. Barty snuggled into her hand, sighing with pleasure.

'Did you like Hermione, Winky?'

'Yes, Master Barty.'

'Her elf Rinky died.'

'She told us, Master Barty.'

'Oh. Well, when we're done here, you take good care of her, all right? She's sad sometimes.'

'We will, Master Barty.'

'I know. Rabbity Babbity?'

He fell asleep listening to his elf. He still missed being at home, but he knew Sev was trying, and that Winky would help keep him safe. That was enough for right now. He drifted off, wishing Edric was here to listen to the story with him.

Winky waited until Master Barty was soundly asleep before she did what Master Snape had asked. She warded her charge thoroughly to keep him safe and then, making herself invisible, crept through the corridors.

In the bedrooms, she could hear people being sick. She did nothing to help, ignoring the sound. Instead, she found the study and unlocked the desk. She copied all the papers onto parchment Master Snape had given her, and then tucked it into her towel. She was gone fewer than five minutes, giving the whole thing to Mippy and coming back.

Master Barty was still sleeping comfortably when she came back to him. Winky settled onto a pillow to watch him sleep. Her boy, the last child she'd ever raised. Winky wouldn't let harm come to him, no matter what. She stayed invisibly beside him, watching to keep him safe.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**I love Hermione in this chapter. It really annoys me that for some people, a strong female character has to be an action heroine. Not that I don't like the occaisional actiona heroine-River Tamm, anyone?-but guile heroes are so much more interesting to me.**

**Also '...a country to flee' is taken from a real-life quote from 'The Fall of the Third Reich'. So, many chapters back, was Snape's assertion that 'They know what we bring'. **

Narcissa had always loved getting dressed up. She liked doing it herself, and she liked helping others do it. Her niece had a special place in her heart already, and making Hermione feel beautiful ought to have made her aunt's night.

Instead, Narcissa was sitting on the bed with Bellatrix, hand in hand as Kreacher and Gemmy, whom Eugenia had lent to Hermione for the moment, finished piling the curls they'd just made into a neatly contained knot, held with tortoise shell combs which had been Walburga's.

Hermione was glowing. The cloth of silver was topped with a necklace of huge and perfect pearls, also borrowed from Walburga, and the sash of orders. The candlelight was playing off it all, making Hermione look like Diana, shimmering with moonlight.

'Am I all right?'

'Beautiful, sweetheart. Do you need a phial?'

Hermione swallowed. 'Yes. I can't...I wasn't this afraid when we went to take that tower at Castle Dinev.'

'Of course not' said Bellatrix 'you didn't have time to be.'

'No. And it didn't feel like-poor Barty. He's depending on us.'

'He couldn't have a better advocate than yourself and Viktor, love.'

'Thank you, Aunt Cissy.'

Hermione sat back down. She had faint circles under both eyes, camouflaged with powder. Kreacher brought her a phial of a calming draught and she drained it, breathing deeply.

'Oh. Oh, that's better.'

The door flew partway open and Bess bounded in, trailed at more dignified pace by Crookshanks. The two of them sat flanking her like an honour guard. Bess was truly a lovely dog, all glossy, healthy fur and bright eyes. She came and sniffed the women, chuffing as though to calm them, or cheer them up.

'Bess, you'll guard them whilst we're gone, won't you, girl?'

Bess whined, tail swishing slowly. Hermione scratched her ears, looking at her sadly. Narcissa darted her eyes at her sister, who nodded slowly.

'Girl?'

'Mother?'

'Sit down, would you?'

She did, offering one hand to her mother and one to her aunt. They each took them, and the three women sat together in silence a moment.

'When you were missing, girl, we did this. Your aunts and uncles and father and me, we'd sit like this every night, thinking we'd get the word any minute.'

'Mother...'

'I swore I'd never do this again. Here we are, though.'

Narcissa inhaled; she knew precisely what her sister meant. Their lives were going in circles, it felt like, continually returning to certain points like a ghost compelled to act out the same action again and again.

Hermione nodded. 'Why am I so afraid suddenly?'

'You're human.'

'So are you, Mother.' Hermione was smiling gently but Bellatrix wasn't. Her eyes darkened and grew fierce.

'Do you think I'm not afraid, girl?'

'I don't think you ever are, Mother.'

'Well, I am. So don't you dare do anything-anything at all, do you hear me?-to risk yourself. You come home to me.'

Hermione's eyes widened a little. 'I will, Mother.'

'You had better. He's crafty, girl. I'd give the earth go with you.'

Hermione was abruptly in her mother's arms. 'Barty could die.'

'No. Not with you to advocate for him.'

Hermione straightened up. 'Thank you, Mother.'

'Yes, well. I'll tan your arse if you get hurt.'

Bellatrix was still glaring but Hermione didn't seem to notice. The Vicereine had come and taken over, as gentle as a kiss. She carefully lifted her hem, and walked from the room head high, glittering. Narcissa wanted to call out to her, to warn her, or else apologise.

Bellatrix laid down on the bed and tugged her sister's arm lightly until Narcissa joined her. Their hands clasped. Hermione's shoes were receding down the corridor. The former Black sisters laid down on the bed and hoped. It was all they could do.

In another part of London, Severus Snape gave Rice the nod, and Rice nodded back, calmy stunning the auror who was watching them. The woman fell like a sack of vegetables, and Rice gently lifted her into a chair as Snape swapped out the wine with something nearly identical, except for a few ingredients he'd added himself.

Other than that, the room was perfect. Snape had had false-Mulciber suggest the Unicorn Inn (via owl, as he was still very ill), a tony establishment on the outskirts of Wizarding London. It was beautiful, discreet, expensive and private. Ideal, in other words, for this purpose.

Rice had also swept everything, and disabled a number of listening devices, mini-cameras and other such things. Snape had also administered a number of antidotes to all four children just in case the Dark Lord decided to try to poison or drug them. The Vicereine also had a bezoar about her wrist, disguised as a bracelet.

'Severus?'

'My lord.' Snape bowed, trusting Rice to take care of the auror. The Dark Lord had borrowed Galvin Goyle, and he towered nearly a foot over Snape's head as he came in.

'Most acceptable, Severus. Very nice indeed.'

He sat down, huge frame squeezed uncomfortably into a delicate chair. Galvin's long legs were giving him trouble, it would seem; he shifted uncomfortably every so often, trying to get better balanced on the chair.

'Thank you, my lord.'

Someone knocked up the door. 'Viktor, Lord Protector of Bulgaria and his wife, Hermione, the Vicereine. Drago Malfoy, Seneschal of Castle Krum.'

The voice was heavily accented but comprehensible. Tamm, thought Snape, and hoped as hard as he could that things would be all right.

The Dark Lord made no move to rise as the small group came in. None of them seemed to notice, making their manners to him as then sitting in the chairs that had been left for them.

'My lord, we are most honoured your lordship received us.'

'Of course, Vicereine. Lord Protector, I hope you are enjoying your time in my country.'

'Very much, my lord.'

'Draco, it rather startles me to see you like this. Surely you ought to be spending time with your father and mother?'

'Father and Mother wish me to help assure the concordance between our two countries flourishes, my lord.'

'How admirable of them. Tell me, Draco, how old are you?'

'Fifteen, my lord.'

'And your cousin the Vicereine?'

'Fifteen in two weeks' time, my lord.'

'You've all grown up so quickly. Severus, I quite remember the day we first found the Vicereine. Do you recall?'

Snape wished he could swear. 'I do, my lord.'

'Goodness, what a day. We had to be quite strict with you, Vicereine, do you recall?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'You'd bitten Alecto rather badly, as We recall.'

'Yes, my lord.'

'And after the battle? All covered in blood, crying with terror.'

The girl's face never changed. 'I defer to your lordship's memory, as in all things.'

'You do not recall it that way, Vicereine?'

'I do not recall it much at all.'

The Dark Lord leant forward. Snape was reminded of those people who gather at public executions, the base intoxicating pleasure of another's terror and pain. The girl was having none of it.

'You were quite outraged at Our servant...what is that fellow's name?'

'Scabior, my lord.'

'Quite so. He'd killed an auror in front of you, wasn't it?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'You were spattered in blood, as We recall it. Especially your hands and face, Vicereine, do you remember it now?'

'I'm sure I don't, my lord.'

Krum was cracking. As Snape watched, his hands were balling into fists. Colour was coming up from his collar to his neck and cheeks, and the chords in his neck were starting to stand out.

'Severus, surely you remember?'

'I remember, my lord.'

The girl was still looking right at the Dark Lord, eyes unwavering. Good girl, thought Snape. Don't let him see you bleed, child. He resolved that he would initiate a hug with the girl after this as a reward.

The Dark Lord, thankfully, tired of his sport. He looked away, dismissing the girl, if not quite the Vicereine. Krum's fists unclenched, but his colour was still high. Snape had absolutely no doubt that he would have beaten anyone else nearly to death for speaking to the girl that way.

'You wanted to see Us, is that right?'

'We did. There's the matter of that unfortunate incident a few days ago, my lord.'

'Incident?'

'Those Dementors nearly killed us.'

'We heard. An anomalous accident, We assure you.'

The girl leant forward much as the Dark Lord had done. It was a small gesture, but it said everything, was different in quality than his had been. She was preparing to pounce like a lioness. Snape let his eyes flick shut for a thousandth of a second. You never protected me, Mother. Protect her now.

'I wonder whether the rest of Europe will agree, my lord.'

'The rest of Europe will surely understand that accidents happen, Vicereine.'

'Accidents involving dozens of level five rated magical creatures that specifically attacked a sitting head of state, my lord?'

The Dark Lord blinked. His mouth opened and then closed. '...We beg your pardon?'

'My lord, sometimes mistakes get made.'

The Dark Lord's mouth snapped shut. Goyle's usually mobile face was slack with surprise. Krum was nodding, managing to give the impression of neutrality even as he agreed with his wife.

Snape found himself wishing he could have briefed them better. Or more, something, anything. This was torment, waiting for the other slipper to fall. His muscles were tight, and he was making himself breathe evenly as he could.

'You **dare**-you dare accuse Us-**Us**-?'

'No one is accusing anyone, my lord. We simply feel that since a mistake was made. Most unfortunate, but...' The girl shrugged in the Continental fashion, smiling charmingly.

The Dark Lord relaxed a hair. 'Quite so. We suppose some compensation might be gracious. What would you have, Vicereine?'

Snape let his eyes flick shut. We've protected her this far, Lily. Now she has to protect herself. Keep me from reacting, help me help her, please.

The girl started to talk.

Kreacher was adept at reading silences, and this one hung over the house like the shadow of a gallows. He crept from room to room, stopping to check on each of his people.

He heard the Floo hiss before any of the humans, and popped in as Mistress walked through. She was not weeping, but neither was she smiling. She nodded to Kreacher and laid her cloak over the back of the closest chair. 'Could you ask everyone to assemble here in ten minutes? I want to change first.'

Kreacher did as she asked, reluctantly allowing Gemmy to help the Mistress into a nightdress and dressing gown. Since no one was asleep, the parlour was soon filled with anxious people.

The four came back down in their nightclothes, and sat down. '*_We've got Barty back.'*_

A little tension drained from the room. '_*Oh, thank God. Thank God.*'_

_'*We had to make concessions.*'_

_'*What concessions?*'_

_'*He's going to release Barty to us, but he wants some time to have him looked over by medi-wizards. Professor Snape says he'll go with Barty to be sure nothing untoward happens.*'_

_'*What about Edric?*'_

_'*He's coming as well.*'_

Master Rabastan Lestrange was slumped against the back of the chair, hands shaking with relief. His breath was coming in big deep hitches, like he'd been holding his breath a long time.

_'*What else, love?*'_

_'*Draco has to stay.*'_

Draco held out a hand._ '*Just for now. I agreed to do it.*'_

_'*Stay for what, love? Draco, pardon.*'_ Master Malfoy realised what he'd said a beat too late, but Master Draco didn't react a bit.

_'*He wants to test my ideology, I think, Father. All of us. He wants all of us to come to Hogwarts every day to hear more about Uncle Rodolphus's book.*'_

Master Rodolphus Lestrange laughed in disbelief. '_*I had better start writing one, then.*'_

_'*It would be a good idea. Uncle...he might like it if you denounced them.*'_

_'*Denounced my ancestors?*'_

_'*No. Denounce Bulgaria.*'_

_'*My daughter and son in law, you mean?*'_

_'*He's right, Father. It will make your life easier. Maybe he will stop being so paranoid.*' _

_'* I agree, Father.*'_

_'*I won't do it.*'_ Master Rodolphus, normally so bluff and cheery, crossed his arms and stared straight ahead, face stiff.

_'*Father, please.*'_

_'*No.*'_

Mistress got up and knelt by his chair, resting her head on his leg. He stroked her cheek with one hand, looking down at her with love so bright it was painful to watch. Kreacher felt his old heart creaking at the sight of it, and moved a little closer to the pair, wanting to comfort, wanting to protect.

_'*Hermione, I will do anything for help you. But not this. He's taken everything from us, sweetheart. He won't take this.*'_

_'*Of course not_. _But Father, we have to do something. This might be a good way. It won't hurt anyone_.*'

_'*It would hurt me.*'_

_'*How else, then?*'_

_'*We'll think of something, love.*'_

_'*Promise you'll consider it?*'_

_'*All right.*'_

His hand was still curled gently into her hair, and she nodded, head resting on his leg. Her makeup had smeared a little, black flecks of mascara on her cheek. Kreacher could see the imprint of the pearls had left on her neck.

_'*What else, children?*'_

_'*He's left Nagini with us until we leave. No hardship there.*'_

Nagini, hearing her name, put up her head and hissed as though agreeing. She slithered closer and rested her head on Mistress, flicking her tongue against Mistress's skin companionably.

Master Anu seemed to want to talk. Kreacher gently floated over and patted his shoulder. Master Anu smiled and then finally said '_*What if we all just went?*'_

_'*Went where?*'_

_'*Bulgaria. Albania. Durmstrang. Anywhere. This isn't...we're afraid for you. I'm afraid.*'_

Kreacher knew boys that age would mostly bite out their tongues before they admitted fear, and was duly impressed. The others were studying Master Anu seriously, trying to marshal words for this next thing.

_'*Anu...*'_

_'*If it's a problem, don't go to Bulgaria. I have a house now in Tirana and a keep near Pequin.*'_

_'*He isn't wrong.*'_ This from Master. All eyes turned to him, and he blushed slightly, still not used, after all this time, to being the centre of attention.

_'*I've asked my uncles to help us find a way. This is a country to flee now.*'_

Mistress Bellatrix Lestrange shook her head. It was the first time she'd spoken all night.

_'*No. We made this mess, boy. Now it's for us to fix it as best we can.*'_

Master swallowed hard. _'*Mother...*'_

'_*By all my ancestors, boy, if I could go with you, I would. I want to see my grandchildren as much as anyone. But if I should die, how would I explain that to my father and the rest of them? That I lost my nerve and ran like a whipped dog from my duty as a Black?*'_

The others were agreeing. Master Rabastan Lestrange came to Master and then Master Anu, hugging them both.

_'*If I have ever met braver or more worthy people than yourselves, I don't remember them.*'_

The Mistress, sitting on her easel, had been silent, observing. Now she spoke, snapping open her fan briskly.

_'*Well, that's certainly very high-minded of you all, I daresay. These children are offering you a way out. Do be good enough to take advantage of it.*'_

_'*Aunt Walburga-*'_

_'*Bellatrix Druella, don't interrupt your elders, please. I'm not saying go. I'm saying, make ready for if you must go. You, Lucius, have you still got those fossilised dragon's eggs Abraxas collected?*'_

_'*Yes, I have, Aunt. Why do you ask?*'_

_'*How much does a single one realise on the open market? Half a million galleons?*'_

Master Malfoy thought for a moment and then nodded. _'*Conservatively, yes.*'_

_'*Shrink them and send them with us. Pack them in my box, if it please you. The day could come when you need that money.*'_

_'*I'm not sure what-*'_

The Mistress snapped her fan shut with a single hard gesture, giving an aggrieved sigh, eyes rolling.

_'*Really, you young people today. If you should need to flee, you will not want to do so as starving paupers. This boy*' _she gestured to Master Anu_ '*has given you a place to store valuables, as the Dark Lord expects you to store it in Bulgaria. If asked, my niece and nephew can say they do not have it, and should you run, you will have several million galleons to fall back on, isn't that right?*'_

_'*Yes, Aunt, thank you.*'_

_'*They will search us at the border, Aunt Walburga.*'_

_'*Let them. The Vicereine of Bulgaria travels with a large number of bags, and they can't search them all. Kreacher?*'_

_'*Mistress?*'_

_'*I am gifting my niece my travelling cases. You will pack all the souvenirs of her trip abroad in them.*'_

Kreacher smiled. _'*Yes, Mistress.*'_ He knew precisely what she meant, and looked forward to pulling one over on the aurors he'd spent all his time driving away from Grimmauld Place.

Young Mistress thanked Mistress, sitting back on her heels. The snake had uncoiled herself, and gone to Mistress Hetty, lying so her head was on the arm of the divan, watching them with eerie golden eyes.

_'*Where is Severus now, do you know?*'_

_'*With him, still.*'_

Master Draco stood up and paced a bit. He was still wearing his tunic and pin, but he'd opened the collar a little, and he tugged lightly, more for something to do with his hands than any discomfort, Kreacher perceived. Bess rose to trot at his heels, whining softly.

_'*He was making me nervous the whole time. Really nervous.*'_

_'*For what reason, Draco?*'_

_'*He wasn't angry enough. Hermione, Viktor? Anu?*'_

_'*He took it quite well, yes. Maybe he was just glad we promised not to mention Dementors to the rest of Europe.*'_

Master Draco shook his head. '_*He'd take that as his due, I think. He's planning something.*'_

_'*He always is, Draco.*'_

Master Rabastan Lestrange sounded soothing, but Kreacher could smell his discomfort, his knowledge he was nearly lying to his nephew by trying to make it better when it wasn't.

_'*No. No, this is something special.*'_

The young Mistress stood up. _'*Draco's correct. The faster we can make things happen, the better off we'll all be.*'_

_'*If it is, there's nothing for it this moment. You've all done splendidly this evening.*' _That was Master Rodolphus Lestrange.

Kreacher thought so too. He moved closer to the old Mistress, who was nodding approvingly.

_'*Kreacher, it is late. Send the four young people to bed. And Hetty as well, the baby needs rest.*_'

She was giving them all a stern look, and seeing it, none of them argued. The rest of the family went to bed too, and soon it was just Kreacher and the old Mistress.

'My niece's daughter has done well tonight, Kreacher.'

'Yes, Mistress.'

Old Mistress sighed deeply. 'We keep on whilst the young people go to fight our battles, Kreacher. Do you feel it?'

Kreacher nodded vigourously. 'Yes, Mistress. Kreacher is feeling very old.'

'As am I. We'll do what we can for them, Kreacher.'

'Yes, Mistress.'

Old Mistress sighed. 'Serve them well, Kreacher. They'll need all your skill and cunning.'

'Yes, Mistress.'

'And mine, naturally.'

Kreacher lifted her cover, and at her nod, dropped it over so she could sleep. Then he went upstairs to his cupboard, ready to help plan the next move.

In a guestroom, Hetty Gill Feathering was lying in bed with her husband, who was reading a book about the indigenous pixies of Borneo. She supposed that if made Des happy, it made her happy. Pixie, though...

'Desmond?'

'Yes, Hetty?'

'I need to tell you something.'

He put down his book. 'Everything all right?'

'I'm a Parselmouth.'

'What?'

'I can talk to Nagini. She talks back.'

'You're sure?'

'Snape heard me.'

'Oh.'

'You aren't angry?'

Des shook his head. 'It's not something you chose.'

'No. She's very nice. Nagini.'

'Is she?' A ghost of a smile played on Des's face. He looked very like Gennie when he smiled.

'Yes. She's going to be glad you know.'

'She won't tell the Dark Lord?'

'No. She promised.'

'Snakes don't lie?'

'No.'

He nodded. 'All right, then.'

'If our baby can do it, you won't mind?'

'No.'

Sometimes his silence unnerved her, but now it seemed comforting. She rested her head on his chest, breathing deeply.

'Hetty?'

'Yes?'

'What do snakes talk about?'

'The same things people do, mostly. She asks me questions, sometimes.'

'About what?'

Hetty shrugged. 'All sorts of things. She asked me once why we cook meat. She keeps bringing me fresh rat to eat.'

Des didn't react. 'Have you tried it?'

'...No, I thought I'd give it a miss.'

'Never know. Perhaps it's good.'

'Shall I have her catch you one, then?'

He was still po-faced. 'All right, but see it's a big one. I won't eat any puny rats, Hetty.'

Hetty remembered her husband had been a mercenary and her eyes widened. He couldn't be serious. Could he?

Des finally chuckled once. 'Good night, dear.'

Hetty laughed, a trifle uneasily, and rolled over to sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**See bottom for the spoiler A/N.**

Rabastan braced himself but it was almost not enough. Barty knocked him off balance, and only Rodolphus's quick spell kept them from both tumbling over. Barty was almost in tears, hugging him with bone crushing force.

'Rab Rab Rab! I'm home! I'm home now!'

'I know, Barty, I know!' Rabastan couldn't help laughing as his friend danced with glee. His family, odd though it was, was complete again, and that was what mattered.

Across the room, the Carrows were staring coldly at them. Rabastan gave it straight back, daring one of them to say a word about any of this. He'd hex out both their damned tongues, if they did.

Eugenia came in, carrying the baby, who immediately started to wail at the sight of his beloved Uncle Barty. Barty's eyes lit up. He ran to Eugenia and scooped Edric into his arms.

'Edric! I missed you so much!'

Edric cried harder, overwhelmed, little arms wrapped about Barty's neck. Now Barty really was crying, and the two of them turned to hug Eugenia. Edric sniffled and then said to his mother 'Bar! Bar, Mum!'

'I know, my darling. Uncle Barty's come home, hasn't he?'

Edric, overcome with delight, vented it as best he knew, by clapping enthusiastically. He clapped a lot these days, a milestone, apparently, but now it was sheer unmitigated joy. The baby giggled, plump body wiggling with delight.

Barty kissed the baby's head. 'And Winky will be with us too, Edric, isn't that exciting?'

Edric clapped a bit more and then went back to clinging, still babbling a mile a minute, catching Barty up on what had happened since he was gone. Rabastan looked at the rest of the family, crowded about the happy pair.

The Carrows were slowly approaching. Amycus's hand was still bandaged, and Alecto was scowling, face set to show disapproval of what was going on. Rabastan could see, from the corner of his eye, Viktor slowly marking their approach. He nudged Hermione and she, too, watched them. Her lips moved and he nodded.

'Well, here he is, then.'

'Quite so.'

Amycus held up his bandaged hand. 'Don't know how you do it, Rab.'

'Don't be stupid, Amycus. We could have trained him, given the time.'

Viktor had wandered over. 'Trained him? Barty is a human, not a dog.'

'Simple creatures respond to firmness.'

If she'd been a man, Rabastan would have punched her, and damn the consequences.

'It's hardly my fault you've spoilt him.'

Viktor was staring at them, too appalled to speak. Amycus shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the look on the Lord Protector's face, but Alecto was not, and pressed onward.

'Something to say, lad? Perhaps you'd like to share your thoughts with us?'

'No, thank you.'

Alecto's hands curled and she raised her head so she was tall as she could be. 'Perhaps in your country, Lord Protector, it was polite to stare at a lady, but in Britain, those things are not done.'

'If I saw a lady, I vould not stare at her, Madam Carrow. Excuse me.'

He spun on his heel and went to rejoin the others at the opposite end of the room. Alecto was puce, beyond speech.

Rabastan decided he couldn't top that. He bowed and joined the others as they stepped into the Floo and went back home.

The rest of the household had turned out, meaning Aunt Cunegarde, Aunt Walburga, Kreacher, Crookshanks and the snake. Barty hugged them all, except Aunt Walburga, still holding Edric in his arms as though he'd never let go.

Rabastan caught his niece's eye and nodded. She said something to her husband and the room emptied, with even Aunt Walburga electing to go and help the ladies pack.

'Rab! Did you have any adventures whilst I was gone?'

'No, Barty. No adventures. What about you?'

Barty beamed proudly. 'I did. I bit Amycus and smashed some really ugly dishes and did you know it rains inside their house, Rab?'

Rabastan couldn't stop his smile. 'Barty Crouch! That's hardly kind!'

'Well, it does! And I did!'

'Why did you bite Amycus?'

Barty explained about the pinch. 'It was a matter of honour, Rab.'

'Quite so. How was the hospital? This time, not last time.'

'They didn't give me egg custard this time.' Clearly this was a problem for Barty, who frowned, thinking about it.

'Did they run tests?'

'Loads of them, and they made me talk to a mindhealer. Healer...Davis? Davies?...something.'

'What did you tell him?'

'Her. Not very much. I told her I couldn't remember because my mind's not sound.'

'Who told you to do that, Barty?'

Edric was cooing softly, finger in his mouth as his eyes drifted closed. It had been a very hard few days for him. For all them, really.

'No one. People think it's true, you know.'

'No one here thinks that.'

'I know. That's why I live here and not there, Rab.'

Rabastan nodded. 'Barty, could I ask you a favour? A special favour?'

Barty nodded, gently rocking to lull Edric completely to sleep. The baby was snoring softly, making up for five days of hardly resting at all.

'Would you represent our family in Bulgaria?'

'Like an ambassador?'

'Rather. Except that Edric is going to go too, and I need to know you'll protect him.'

'Always. When are we leaving?'

'We aren't, Barty. Just you and Edric. When Hermione and Viktor leave tomorrow, you'll go with them.'

'You and Gennie and Madam Cunegarde aren't coming?'

'Not right away.'

Barty was clearly working through this in his mind. 'This is because the Dark Lord is angry with us.'

'Yes.'

'It's safer for Edric in Bulgaria.'

'Yes, it is, and we want you to go to care for him.'

'And to watch the children.'

'Yes. Remind them of us.'

'All right. Is Draco coming?'

'Not this time, Barty. He has to stay for a little while.'

'How long?'

'We aren't sure.'

Barty nodded. 'This is very sad, isn't it?'

'Yes. It's very sad.'

'I'll do it, Rab, but you have to promise me.'

'Promise you what?'

'When you're done here, you have to come. You and Gennie and Sev and everyone else has to come.'

'Barty, when we're done here, I swear to you that all of us will come as quickly as we're able.'

'All right. I trust you, you know.'

'I know.'

Barty clapped his shoulder as he rose. 'I'm going to go and check on everyone else, all right?'

Rabastan watched him go, wondering how many of them would be alive to honour that promise.

Snape arrived some hours later, looked strained. He handed his cloak to the elf and sank into a chair, knee throbbing. Tamm came through the door, wand raised, and dropped it again when he saw who it was.

Snape reached into a pocket and pulled out the sheath of letters Crabbe had given him. 'For the Lord Protector and Vicereine, please. There's one for you as well, I believe.'

Tamm nodded. 'I practice today my English.'

Snape found he could understand the boy clearly enough. 'Good. For Krum, please.'

'Yes. Barty comes home two hours by. He is happy. Edric is happy.'

'I daresay.'

Tamm scooted out, and then scooted in a minute later, tears in his eye. Snape wondered if something had happened, but then the boy thrust his letter at him.

'Look!'

'I see, Mr. Tamm. From Vata?'

Tamm shook his head, tears running from his one good eye. 'Nene! She make writing!'

Snape inspected the letter. It was in Albanian, big and scrawling. He couldn't read a word, of course, but it did look like it had been written by someone learning to write. Tamm was laughing a little as well as crying, and Snape awkwardly patted his arm.

'Most impressive...good. Very good.'

Tamm nodded, too overcome to speak. Finally he dried his eye. 'I see Drago and look him letter. You look dog-friend?'

There would be time to correct him later. Snape wasn't going to take the child's obvious pride and delight away, even a little, even for a second.

'Do that, Mr. Tamm. No running on the stairs.'

'No, all right. Bye!' He hugged Snape and then was out the door, still laughing. Snape watched him go.

Lucius Malfoy caught the door and came in. 'Severus? Was I nearly flattened by Anu just a moment ago?'

'Was the person responsible about yea tall, and had only one eye, Malfoy?'

'That sounds familiar, yes.'

'It stands to reason. His mother wrote him a letter.'

'That's...nice.'

'Madam Tamm was illiterate until recently. He's excited that she's learnt to read.'

'Ah. Good for Sose.'

'Quite so. How did it go this morning?'

'Alecto was absolutely spoiling for a fight.'

'That's news now, is it?'

'No, but she didn't get one. Viktor was quite blunt with her.'

'About what?'

'She accused him of staring at her.'

'Had he fallen to the ground shrieking and clutching his eyes?'

'I don't think Viktor shrieks much, really.'

'No. It wasn't too bad?'

'I have rarely seen a happier man than Barty was this morning. He pounced Rabastan and hasn't let go of Edric since he's seen him.'

Snape had expected that. 'Rabastan's explained...?'

'I think he has.'

'How are him and Eugenia handling it?'

'As Narcissa and I would. As we will, if the ancestors are kind and we can send him.' He meant Draco, and with good reason.

'Tomorrow will go smoothly?'

'Ideally. Severus?'

'Lucius?'

'Save my son.'

'Only Draco can do that.'

'I know.' Malfoy slumped a little, seeming years older, seeming different than he had even a minute before.

'God help me, I know, and there is not a thing I can in the world to change it, Snape. I would give all I have, my fortune, my good name, my very breath, if it would help him.'

'That would avail him nothing. All you can do, Malfoy, is give him the tools he will need.'

'I have done my utmost. You know, Trixie said something last night I thought was apt.'

'Oh?'

The day Malfoy and Bellatrix agreed on anything was the day Snape starting wearing bright pink dress robes and smiling at children, which is to say Snape didn't believe such a thing was possible.

'She said we made this mess, and now it's ours to clean up. I'm not sure I totally agree we're responsible, but it's our to fix, now.'

'Exactly so.'

'I don't mind thought of that, precisely. But sometimes I look at my son and I wonder what we've done to him. To all of them. We've created a generation of teenagers who've killed before they could legally drink.'

'Yes. We did do that.'

'Sometimes, Severus...his **eyes**. He hears a noise-'

Malfoy looked away and Snape realised he was trying to control himself. He felt both pity and a species of calm contempt. Malfoy loved Draco deeply, any fool could see that. But he'd done his share, and now would live with it every day.

'I'll talk to him. It's likely he's got some scars from everything that happened in December. Someone mentioned nightmares.'

'Draco's hinted. Someone?'

Snape nodded. 'Someone.' Barty had confided in him, and Snape would honour that.

'Ah. Why does he not talk to me?'

'You're his father.'

'Severus, please.' Malfoy sounded irritated, and Snape had to fight himself not to take it a shade further. Lucius could be a very pleasant bloke, but he could also be an arse sometimes.

'He wants to believe you are invulnerable. If he admits he is hurting, then he admits you can't make it go away.'

Malfoy swallowed. 'His eyes, sometimes. I've seen eyes like that on people in Azkaban.'

'That's where he was, and where he will be again unless you help him get this out. The memories will be a problem for him later if they aren't addressed.'

'Why has Draco...is it something I might have done?'

Snape shook his head at once. 'He saw things for which he was not prepared. All of them did. This is simply the way the trauma is expressing itself in him. That's all.'

'I've noticed a change in the others, admittedly.'

'As have I. We made our choices, Malfoy, and theirs as well.'

'When this is over...if it is ever over...my hopes are that the children make better choices than we did, Severus.'

Snape could get behind that. 'You will guide them, no doubt.'

'All of us, I should hope.'

To that, Snape had no answer, and so he took his leave to see to the younger Lestranges, to ease this for them as much as he could.

Upstairs, Nagini was fighting her own battles. _/no/_

_/nagini there is no choice/_

_/is/_

_/no/_

_/ the young stays here with nagini where it is safe/_

_/master sends them/_

_/nagini tells master the young should stay/_

Hetty-Speaker was breathing deeply. She smelt like fear and like she lacked warmth. Nagini slithered closer, lashing the tip of her tail sternly to show how she felt.

/_hetty-speaker wants young to stay/_

_/safer if they go/_

_/safer if they are with nagini/_

Hetty-Speaker swallowed hard and said nothing. The fear smell was stronger. Not, precisely, fear of Nagini, but rather fear for what could happen. Nagini half wanted to insist she lie down, but then she heard another sound, soft and damp.

Alerting Hetty-Speaker, she followed the noise to the above-cave. It was a musty place, rich with tender rats and delicious, tiny mice. She slithered up the stairs as softly as possible and followed the noises.

Draco-young was curled up in a quiet corner, hands over his face. He was making eye water, shaking all over. Nagini could smell bright fear, almost panic, on him, chokingly strong. It triggered her predatory instincts for a split-second, before she remembered this was young and not food.

Draco-young curled up tighter, trying to act like he didn't know she was there. Nagini was having none of it, and she simply ignored the attempts, approaching Draco-young and staring at him, waiting for him to acknowledge her.

'I can't. I'm sorry, I can't. Can't.'

Nagini didn't understand much human speech, aside from a few courtesy phrases, but she knew what it sounded like to need warmth. She put her head down near his and gently wrapped herself about him.

_/warm safe food sleep warm sleep food safe sleep warm sleep food/_

Draco-young squirmed. 'No, don't. Please, don't.'

Nagini tightened on him, careful not to accidentally squeeze his fragile body in her coils.

_/warm food sleep warm sleep safe food sleep sleep food/_

Draco-young was still making eye-water, and still trying to fight her. Nagini laid still, gently reminding him which of them was the young and which the elder. He wriggled, using words she'd never heard before but which sounded like things young ought not say.

Finally he'd tired himself out, and she slowly relaxed a little bit, releasing him a bit at a time, hissing soothingly. Draco-young sat slowly, watching her guardedly.

'Sorry, Nagini.'

She raised herself so their heads were of a height. Draco-young reached slowly to stroke her head with one upper appendage.

'I'm fine, really.'

She could tell he was saying something untrue, but she undulated slowly anyway to calm him down. Would a fat, juicy rat help him feel better? Hetty-Speaker seemed generally disinclined toward it, so perhaps not.

Hetty-Speaker would help if Nagini could just direct Draco-young down to where she was. Draco-young had brought his knees to his chest. He had a speculative look about him.

'I feel stupid, you know, that you caught me like this.'

Nagini slithered closer, resting her head so they were eye to eye. She didn't understand the problem, but that almost didn't matter. He was hurting, and he was young. Human young, but young. He buried his face in his hands. Nagini used the tip of her tail to brush the top of his head lightly.

_/warm sleep food sleep better soon new sun soon better warm food sleep/_

Draco-young raised his head. 'Don't tell anyone, all right?'

Nagini's tongue brushed his ear. _/draco-young tells sire or dam nagini makes sure/_

Draco-young went up on his lower appendages. 'Let's go back down, all right?' He pointed his stick at his face and a burst of light came out. Nagini stiffened slightly. The sticks made her nervous.

'I want a snack. You?'

Draco-young couldn't put Nagini off with food. She manoeuvred herself ahead of him, proceeding him down the bumpy things and then carefully leading him by scent, looking for Lucius-human ( a fine name, that, all hisses) and Narcissa-human (also a good name).

Lucius-human was closer, and Nagini led the young to him. He nodded politely to her and then gave his young a sharp look Nagini approved of deeply.

'Draco, is something the matter?'

'I, err, it's better now.'

'Draco Lucius.'

'Father, let's don't.'

'Draco? Please tell me.'

Draco-young nodded. Nagini could smell his resolve. It was hot and strong, and she reared up to give him an approving flick of her tongue.

'Could we find somewhere private?'

'Yes, of course.'

Nagini watched them go. She went to find that snack. Draco-young, like the others, was safest with her there to watch and listen. She'd make sure to keep a good eye on him for a while, just to be sure. She could sense Hetty-Speaker's threat moving ever closer.

Worse, she couldn't tell the Master, because she sensed he knew already, and that he didn't mind it at all.

In the bedroom, Draco and his father were trying to find a way to discuss the unmentionable.

'His chest just burst open, Father.'

'You must have been very angry, Draco.'

'I was angrier than I'd ever been, I think. He hurt Anu.'

'Are you disturbed that you killed him?'

Draco shook his head no. 'What could we have done otherwise, Father? Any trial we gave him would have been a show trial at best. Viktor would have had to find him guilty and execute him.'

'Exactly so.'

'He deserved it, anyhow. All those poor people he drove out to die. We left a handful every time we stopped. Old people first, and children, but then the others started to drop in twos and threes. Viktor and I helped dig graves when we could.'

'With what?'

'Our hands. Sometimes my fingers would start to bleed and then they'd freeze together. From the blood, I mean.'

'You see this when you sleep?'

'Sometimes. Sometimes...sometimes I start to cry and I, er, can't seem to stop.'

'Can't stop?'

'Sometimes. Not all that mu-well, maybe a few times...'

'In what period, Draco?'

'Once a week or so.'

Father looked away for a second. 'What else, Draco?'

'I've lost time.'

'Lost time?'

'Sometimes when I think about it, I start to feel...it's like I'm back there. When I come back, it's later.'

'How often?'

'A few times. It's not so bad.'

'Draco.'

'It isn't, Father, really.'

'You've never been able to lie to me. You've not changed in six months, Draco.'

Draco snorted a little. 'It could be worse.'

'Of course it could. Nearly everything could be worse, but that does not mean, Draco, that we should not treat this as it stands. Have you spoken to anyone?'

'Barty.'

'Barty?'

Draco flushed and explained what had happened. 'I didn't wish to bother Mother or yourself.'

'You know better than that, Draco. About bothering.'

'You aren't upset I confided in Barty?'

'No. Barty always was fond of you. I'm sure it made him feel very loved that you trusted him enough to treat him like an adult.'

'Mother says he was awfully nice.'

'He still is. What did he tell you?'

'That bad dreams are normal, and no one was judging me.'

'He's correct on both counts. Now, what can we do to help you feel better?'

'Don't know. I, ah, wonder sometimes why the others aren't...?'

'I suspect they are, Draco. You just don't see it, as they don't see yours.'

Draco nodded. 'I suppose.'

'Remember, too, that you all perceived slightly different things. You saw things that might have disturbed you less than them, at the time, and vice versa.'

'That's true.'

'I wish we could talk about it.'

'Have you tried?'

Draco shook his head and then, thoughtfully, held up a hand. 'Earlier, we did. When we were younger.'

'Did it help?'

'It did, I expect. We talked about what we'd seen at the Ministry. This Ministry, not the one in Sofia.'

'Why can't you talk about this, then?'

Draco laughed softly. 'We haven't got time, Father. I got back from Durmstrang with Anu, we slept and then had to be up by six by get here in time. And they've both got so much to worry about now.'

'So do you.'

'Not running a country.'

'Not yet.'

Father smiled and Draco, overcome with a bone-deep tiredness, leant into him. Draco's life had changed totally since that first terrible shock of the Ministry, and would change again, but Father would always be Father. Draco closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Father smelt of cologne and hair oil and love and safety.

'Draco? How much do I love you?'

Draco grinned into his father's chest. 'More than the sun and stars.'

'More than the moon and the earth.'

'More than the air and the water.'

'More than the deepest valley and the highest mountain.'

'More than the coldest snow and the hottest fire.'

How long had it been since they had done this? Four years? Five? The night before Hogwarts, realised Draco with a pang. He'd thought, then, that the grand story of his life was finally commencing. Now, four years on, he saw finally that it been the end of the world he had once known.

So Draco closed his eyes and said the words, feeling them, grieving the life he should have had with his parents, using the poem his father had made for him when he was small.

When they were done, he raised wet eyes and smiled. 'Father?'

Father touched his cheek. 'Draco?'

'Tell me about the Dark Lord. What will he want to hear?'

Father's hand was big and warm. 'We'll start at the beginning, Draco.'

That's what they did.

**Spoiler A/N:**

**Draco doesn't understand Nagini. She's trying to help him calm down and instinctively talking to him, like most people would. The language almost doesn't matter-the urge is universal. **


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Very small, not all that spoilery A/N at the bottom.**

Viktor's head jerked up as Hermione, giggling, in her travelling clothes, ran in.

_'Crooks, take Viktor out of your mouth!'_

The cat, unimpressed, laid down on the bed, the action figure dangling from his mouth by an arm. The other arm was shaking at him, the little face sternly set. Crookshanks blatted with contentment and bent to gnaw the hair.

_'Should I be afraid, love?'_

_'Mmm hmm. Crooks is sending you a sign.'_

He snorted, and Crookshanks, unconcerned with their fears, continued to chew on him, sometimes giving a low grunt of pleasure.

_'Doesn't surprise me.'_

_'Shouldn't. Soon we go home.'_

_'For a little while.'_

She nodded, eyes darkening, and climbed into his lap. He wrapped his arms about her and hugged, feeling immediately comforted by her warm weight, and the smell of her hair.

_'How are you, Viktor?'_

_'Better. You were amazing the other night.'_

_'It was all of us.'_

_'It was you.'_

_'All of us. Drago was brave, and Anu. And you were not angry.'_

_'Yes, I was. I nearly hit him.'_

_'But didn't.'_

_'But didn't. Next_ _time I will. And Amycus Carrow too.'_

_'Why Amycus?'_

_'His sister hit my wife and insulted my kinsman. I'd hit her if it wasn't ungentlemanly.'_

_'Barty did a good job.'_

_'Mmm hmm. Do you suppose he'll be all right in Sofia?'_

She paused, tongue touching the bow of her lips thoughtfully. _'I think so. But it would be better if he had the others.'_

_'Yes. We'll help him, though.'_

_'I know. It makes me sad.'_

_'Me, too.'_

She reached up and kissed him on the mouth. He kissed straight back, hands in her undressed hair. Her hands were on his face, stroking his cheeks, rubbing at his neck lightly.

They pulled apart, both of them flushed and smiling. Her eyes had that glow that he loved so much, and he hugged her again, snuggling into her, wanting to touch her all over, wanting to show her how he felt because words wouldn't do the job.

They couldn't. There was no time, and regretfully she climbed off with a final kiss. _'I am glad you feel better, Viktor.'_

_'So am I. You know, in a way, it was a relief. What happened.'_

_'How?'_

_'Because now I can... I can stop thinking he's going to get better.'_

_'Yes.'_ She cupped his cheek unerotically, soothing, reassuring. He rested against her a second and then stood up, kissing the top of her head.

_'I would just as soon not tell the uncles.'_

_'Will you?'_

_'Yes, of course. I'd rather not, though.'_

_'They love you both.'_

_'I know. But they grew up with him. I imagine it hurts them quite a lot.'_

_'And you.'_

_'And me.'_

Crookshanks stood up, still holding the action figure in his mouth. Hermione reached down and gently tugged it away. The cat let her, snorting his displeasure.

_'Everything is packed?'_

_'Yes. Aunt, too. I am glad she's coming. It's good to get to know her.'_

_'She's very like Mother, I think.'_

Hermione giggled. _'Yes! She was very beautiful when she was young. Aunt. Mother, too, but Mother is still beautiful.'_

_'She is. I worry she is not eating enough.'_

_'Snape, too.'_

_'Snape most of all! I scolded him twice.'_

_Viktor laughed. 'What did he do?'_

_'Gave me a look like-'_

She did her best glare, and Viktor gave her the word. She repeated it at once. Six months of complete immersion had vastly improved her Bulgarian, written and spoken.

_'Well, that should teach you.'_

_'No. It made me sneakier.'_

Viktor laughed. _'Yes, that sounds about right.'_

_'Does not! No kisses for you today.'_

She was grinning, and he grinned too, knowing neither of them could keep that up for long. He pretended to sulk, standing up and moving closer.

_'What about other things?'_

_'No. You can sleep on the divan with Bess.'_

_'She settles down quickly.'_

_'And snores.'_

_'She doesn't drool.'_

_'I don't drool.'_

_'Mmm, sometimes.'_

_'No!'_

_'You aren't awake to tell.'_

She huffed cutely, nose wrinkled in that winsome way. He chuckled and dipped his head. She back up, sniffing in pretend crossness.

_'No.'_

_'No?'_

_'Kiss Crookshanks. He does not drool.'_

_'He tried to gnaw off my arm!'_

_'It happens.'_

Then, giggling, she was in his arms, and they embraced before briskly going about their routine again.

Eugenia Lestrange gave her son a final kiss and handed him to Barty. Barty leant over and kissed her brow. 'It's all right, Gennie. We'll all be together very soon, I promise.'

She nodded, eyes filling. 'I know. I know. Barty, thank you. You're the best friend my son could ever have.'

It burnt to say that, but strangely, perversely, she found it to be true. She could send Edric into exile a little easier knowing that Barty was there to love him like his own. Not that the children wouldn't, naturally, but it was different, somehow, if nothing else because they were running a country.

Technically speaking, Penko was now guardian to Edric and Barty both. Viktor and Hermione had offered, but it had seemed weird to them all that Barty was almost twice Viktor's age, and more than twice Hermione's.

The children had agreed at once. 'It seems more respectful to have Uncle do it.'

'Of course.'

'Aunt Sose's very excited. She loves babies.' Hermione's eyes had darted to Barty and Edric, snuggling on the divan as Barty told the baby a slightly garbled version of 'Morella and the Magic Fungus'.

'Aunt Lyudmilla, too.'

'That's good.'

Eugenia had meant what she said. She really did trust both women to help raise her son. For that matter, had Viktor and Hermione been older, she would have felt totally comfortable (insofar as she could, obviously) with the idea of them taking him. Edric would not lack for loving adults, to be sure.

But the fact it was a necessity, that she was sending her child into what was almost certainly permanent, or at least long-term, exile, to be thought a hostage, was making her stomach burn furiously, her eyes tear with rage.

Beside her, Rabastan was weeping softly. He kissed Hermione's cheek and shook Viktor's hand. The Dark Lord had not come to see them off. They could indulge, a little, in sentiment.

The small party climbed into the carriage. Eugenia sneaked a look at Bellatrix. Stone-faced, she watched the children rising into the sky. There was a streak of white in her hair that hadn't been there even a month earlier. She looked tired and ill-used and sad.

Eugenia would never quite credit that she meant to do what she did. Which is to say, she approached her sister in law and held out her arms, a touch hesitantly. And Bellatrix Lestrange, who'd tortured her friend Alice to insanity, stepped into the hug. The women embraced one another in silence. Bellatrix was rigid. Anger swirled about her like perfume. Was her perfume, really, despite the powerful jasmine smell that seemed to seep from her pores.

'We'll fix it, Gennie.'

'I know, Trixie.'

It was the first time she'd ever called Bellatrix that. After a respectful pause, the husbands approached, hugging as well. Rodolphus, like his brother, was damp-eyed.

'How long do you think...' Rabastan couldn't finish. He turned away, composing himself.

In answer to his question, it was a very long time before they saw Edric again.

They made the Ministry by nightfall, and climbed out only be to half pounced by nearly a dozen people. Scabior, Alise, the Kasks, Aunt Sose, Arco and others. The children, ecstatic that Barty was coming to stay a long time, were enthusiastically embracing them, and the others.

Scabior, looking more or less like his old self, made his way over. He'd donned his brightest clothes, and he looked rakish and pleased to see them. Hermione was startled when he drew her closer to him, nearly embracing.

'Yer daddy's about the finest bloke I knows, Flower. You remember that, yeah?'

She nodded slowly. What could he possible...oh. She nodded again, realising what this surely meant.

'Come and see us later, Scabior, all right? You and Alise, if you would.'

'Be glads t.'

Anu was overjoyed to see his mother, and he was hugging her, Yana clinging to them both. Bess, reunited with Lady and Goose, gambolled happily, barking every now and then in pure delight.

'Where's Slug'orn, Flower?'

Only Scabior could call her that and not be reprimanded, at least. 'He's coming tomorrow, I think. He needed extra time to get his affairs in order.'

Scabior's face was unusually stiff. 'I see. We'll be sure an welcome im, yeah?'

Hermione could see in his posture that he didn't like this. She touched his sleeve.

'Professor Snape sends his regards, Scabior.'

'Course, milady.'

Edric, who'd been awake for most of the ride, started to fuss a little, sleepy and out of sorts. The group moved inside. Hermione saw Uncle Rumen's expression and she nodded. There would be a meeting as soon as possible.

It was quite a crowded meeting. Hermione and her husband, the uncles, Aunt Lyudmilla, Aunt Sose, Anu, Scabior and Alise, the Kasks, Vata, and Arco all crowded into one of the smaller conference rooms, private and absolutely unbreechable by any but the most advanced means. They'd had a good dinner of fresh cucumber soup, lamb and onions, bread and fruit, and they were ready.

Uncle Penko started things. 'They know what happened but not why, and not what you did about it.'

So they told the tale, and when the shocked murmurs and angry words (Paavo was so angry he'd put himself in a Silence-bubble for a good five minutes, swearing and pacing furiously) died down, they all stared at one another. Where did they go from here?

Vata spoke first. The damage from the fire had mostly healed, but his skin would never look quite right, and he had sustained nerve damage which sometimes troubled him. Still, all in all things had quite worked out.

'So we're all learning English, is it?'

'No one need attend if he isn't comfortable, Enver.' Hermione smiled and Vata smiled back, mouth twisting oddly.

'I'm game. Paavo?'

'Damned straight. Sorry, ladies. Vaike?'

'Wouldn't miss it. Aunt Sose?'

'All right. Anu?'

'Yes! Alise?'

'I'd like that. Minister Krum?'

'It would be good to expand my horizons. Lyudmilla?'

'I'd like to be to read those magazines Narcissa sends us. Penko?'

'Couldn't keep me away. Scabior?'

'Me writin's poor, sir. Mebbe I needs a refresher. Milord Krum?'

'Mine as well. Hermione?'

'I can help teach. Mr. Arco?'

'Why not?'

That settled, they moved onto the other parts of things. It was a hard conversation, to put it mildly.

'You really don't mean to tell them?'

Viktor reached up and massaged his temples. 'We've not got a choice. He means to use those things, Paavo, and soon.'

Paavo nodded. 'I'm relieved to hear you say that, Krum. Question is, how to do it?'

'I was hoping all of you might have ideas.'

Anu raised a hand, like he was in class. She winked at him. 'Anu?'

'You said we can't tell them. So don't.'

'Sorry?' Was the translation charm wonky?

'What if we just happened to let them overhear? Accidentally, I mean.'

Nods. 'Well done, Tamm.'

Viktor smiled at the younger lad. 'How do you suggest we do it, Anu?'

'We want them to join our army, right? Why not send people to talk to them about that and it sort of slipped out?'

The others nodded harder. 'Send ambassadors, maybe.'

'Would any of you be willing to help?'

The response was immediate. Hermione suspected some of them would have gone that second had they been able. As it was, they agreed on three days in order to have time to get things ready.

That done, Uncle Penko suggested the bulk of the group might want to go and get settled. It was a hint, and soon it was just the family. Aunt Lyudmilla kissed them both and went to check on Barty and the children.

'Uncle?'

'I've a proposal for you both, and you won't like it.'

Viktor was still rubbing his head. 'What is it, Uncle?'

'We need Pavel.'

'Pavel?' Viktor stopped rubbing and looked at Uncle Penko intently. Hermione hoped this wasn't going to be an issue.

'He can help us end this.'

'Romania-'

'Is never going to take him back. We could bind him to us-'

'No.'

'Viktor-'

'That man killed my mother.'

'Not personally.'

'How do you know?'

'I don't, and neither does anyone else. I do know he could be of use to us.'

'Find another way.'

'Viktor, you're being-'

'I said no, Uncle.'

Hermione could see where this was going. Uncle Penko was as stubborn as her husband, and she didn't want a fight between them. She asked an elf for some ayran for them all.

'I feel lightheaded, Viktor. Take a walk with me, please?'

Viktor nodded jerkily and followed behind her. The Ministry was loud with the excitement brought by their arrival and the happy sounds of Barty and the children playing with the dogs below them.

They walked in quiet for some time, smelling the sweet air, listening to the sounds about them. Finally Hermione turned and hugged him hard. He hugged right back.

'I can't do this.'

She said nothing. Viktor leant against her. He was crying quietly, tears wetting her neck. She held him fiercely. She'd kill anyone who hurt him or tried. She knew that now, and it was good.

'He killed Mother.'

'Viktor, it could end the war faster.'

'A war he helped start.'

'A war we all helped start. My parents, as much as anyone.'

He sniffled. 'Don't. It doesn't help.'

'No.'

He stood up and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. 'I've lost my mother and my father, Hermione. I'm afraid I'll lose my soul as well.'

'Your soul?'

'How much can we do and still be in the right? Don't you ever wonder that?'

'Sometimes. Mainly I just get through the day.'

He stroked her cheek. 'I lie awake sometimes and wonder if I'm going to go to Hell for what we've done. I hanged all those wolves.'

'We hanged them. They'd hurt civilians.'

'I know that. It doesn't mean it doesn't bother me that we had to do it.'

She nodded, pressing her head to his chest. 'It would scare me if it didn't.'

'How do you feel about it?'

Hermione snuggled closer. 'I suppose...I try not to think about it. There was never a point where we had a choice, really. No path we could have taken that wouldn't have ended us here.'

'Do you fear...?'

She considered the question seriously. 'A little. But Viktor, I think...it's love. Love is the what decides these things.'

He sat heavily. 'How does one weigh that, though? My love for Mother makes me want to reject Pavel's help, but my love for the rest of the family says perhaps Uncle has a point.'

'I don't think he'd have suggested it if he hasn't. Uncle loves you very much.'

'I know.' He looked older suddenly, as old as she felt. From this angle, she could see a few threads of silver in the dense black of his hair.

'What if you listened to him for five minutes and he did the same? Then we can find a way to compromise.'

Viktor rested his head against the cold stones a moment. 'All right.'

'Would you rather you didn't have to deal with Pavel? I'll do it.'

'No. What a man causes to be done, he does himself.'

'Viktor, this isn't a moral issue. If he makes you uncomfortable, he makes you uncomfortable.'

'It is so. If nothing else, Mother would want me to treat him graciously. He's our guest.'

'We can go together.'

He nodded and stood. 'I would like that. We're receiving Scabior and Alise after this, is that right?'

'It is.'

He put an arm about her. 'I love you, Hermione.'

'I love you too. Ready?'

'No.' He still went with her, and they hammered something out.

Days later, Draco Malfoy was waiting for his brain to finally turn to liquid so it would seep from his ears and he wouldn't have to listen to the endless talking. The Dark Lord, it transpired, loved little more than the sound of his own voice. Still, Draco had always been a quick study, and between the endless hours of lecturing from the Dark Lord himself and Father's lessons at home, he felt like he was keeping up.

In no small part, Durmstrang was the answer. He'd learnt how to absorb things and synthesise them into a coherent whole whilst on his feet. The Dark Lord made no remark about his knowledge, which Draco interpreted as being pleased, or not angry, which was more or less the same for him.

At the moment, Draco was listening to another lecture about the nature of Wizarding people and how the European strain of magic was the purest and most powerful.

'Now, of course, We trust you are aware, Draco, that it is possible for a sort of systemic degradation to take place even in this pure strain. Mongrelisation, the great theorists call it.'

'Yes, my lord.'

'It has long been of interest to Us to study this up close. What forces must be present for this to happen? How quickly does the fatal decline take place? Do you see, Draco?'

'I do, my lord.'

'Good. You have lived long amongst foreigners, Draco, have you not?'

'At school, my lord.'

'And how do you find them?'

Varied, Draco wanted to say. Some of them are good and some bad but mostly in the middle. He tried to formulate a more elegant response, and one that would flatter the Dark Lord's vanity.

'The sole common denominator, my lord, is that they would be much improved by your lordship's teachings.'

'Of course. You have been much protected by Durmstrang, We daresay. Sheltered, even. Do you say so?'

'It is a safe place to learn, my lord.'

'We think a boy of such remarkable skill as yourself would benefit from a more, how shall We say, immediate environment. We've a task for you, Draco.'

Draco could sense disaster. It smelt like blood and roses, high, sweet, cloying, deadly. 'My lord?'

'You are no doubt aware that a bastardised strain of mongrel British blood has established itself in Romania, claiming to be the true rulers of our country?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Good. When the fall comes, We will send you to find out whatever you can about them. Then, when the time is ripe, you will strike a blow for Us.'

'A blow, my lord?'

The Dark Lord smiled. He was Potter today, and he smiled just as Draco recalled. It made him afraid. His skin was crawling, his hair tingling at the roots. His body was slick with sweat.

'That's right. We would know more about this so-called Order, Draco. You will find it for us, and help us infiltrate it. And when the time is right...we are honouring you, Draco. You will eradicate this false Minister Weasley for Us. Are you not grateful, Draco?'

Draco fell out off his chair, fighting to breath. He seized the hem of the Dark Lord's robes and kissed them to hide his feelings. He thought he heard someone-Mother?-draw in air, but he couldn't be sure.

'I'll do my utmost, my lord. I'll see your lordship gets what due.'

'See you do, Draco. See you do.'

The Dark Lord hissed. Nagini answered him and came at once. Draco saw the flash of her scales from his place, still kneeling in humble supplication. The Dark Lord laughed, Potter-like.

'Madam Feathering?'

'My lord?'

'Nagini is very concerned about your health. We quite agree with her. Surely you'd prefer to pass your confinement in comfort and familiarity?'

'My lord?'

'Durmstrang is so far from our beloved England, isn't it? And so cold. Nagini has offered to personally oversee your confinement, isn't that sweet of her?'

Draco could feel bile rising. He was going to vomit on the Dark Lord's very expensive shoes, he was going to be sick right-

No! Fuck that, he thought. I am the Seneschal of Castle Krum, and if I can kill Stefan I can do this. He rose to sit on his heels, eyes well down. I will kill you for this, he vowed, with exquisite slowness.

Aunt Hetty, bless her, never wavered. 'My lord, I am most honoured.' She came and knelt beside Draco. Her hand stole into his a second, squeezing. Draco thought of the word gallantry and applied it to his aunt.

The Dark Lord rose and swept out without another word. Draco stood slowly and helped Aunt Hetty up, making sure she was well on her feet. She smiled at him and then turned to the others.

'Shall we go home?'

It was very quiet until everyone was safe at Malfoy Manor. Then, with no fanfare, Mother summoned Dobby.

'Get Severus and bring him here, Dobby. This will not stand.'

Draco, hearing that, believed her. He found a smile, a real smile, for the first time all day.

**A/N:**

**When CB read this chapter, she asked about Alecto hitting Hermione. That was all the way back in chapter 2 of SIH. Hermione told Viktor about a couple years later, and he remembers these things.**

**I can't imagine Viktor has much use for bullies generally, and especially not for someone who hits people who can't hit back.**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black.**

**NB: When the translating-charm people came and did the Ministry, they also did the family's main residences and some other important places for convenience.**

**As it stands right now, assume the Ministry, Castle Krum, Castle Borev, the Conclave, and the British Embassy are all charmed.(Also, if you do four, you get one free. It was a good deal).**

Pavel had to give it to him, the kid had guts. He was calmly drinking tea, not commenting as the girl-his wife, which really creeped Pavel out, incidentally-kept up a conversation about any and everything.

'A veterinarian? Really?'

'Really. I had just finished my first year when I was bitten.'

'Oh. I'm sorry to hear that.'

Pavel nodded his thanks. 'Thank you, my lady.'

The kid finally set his cup down. 'Then I expect you've looked at Bear.'

'I have, yes. He is very old, I take it.'

'Twenty-four or five.'

'Do most of your dogs reach that age?'

'Magical strains live longer. Typically twenty to twenty five years.'

'They're very handsome dogs. Friendly, too.'

'They haven't been bothering you, I hope.'

'Not at all.'

He liked them. Pavel saw very little of the outside world, but the dogs were a sort of capsule of what was best in it; water and earthy loam and rabbits and birds and rain.

'Bear has been with me my entire life, Mr. Pavel.'

'Yes, of course.'

'If you thought he was in pain, I would want to know.'

What did he do now? Pavel breathed deeply. Like Sirius, he could read a fair amount in the dogs' body language and smells, and he thought Bear had earnt his rest. On the other hand, might this be a test of some sort?

'I think his arthritis is not getting better, my lord, nor ever will.'

'I know. His pain, would you say?'

'That will also not improve.'

'Is he suffering, Pavel?'

Pavel liked animals too much not to be honest. 'I think the answer is yes. He's waiting for you.'

'Waiting for me?'

'He wants you with him when the time comes. He's ready, but you aren't. Or weren't.'

The kid nodded. 'Thank you. Tonight?'

'Or tomorrow, if you'd like a little more time.'

'What would be better for Bear?'

'Tonight.'

The kid nodded again. 'I appreciate your honesty in this matter. So does Bear, no doubt.'

Pavel nodded. There was something beside the dog at work here. He set down the tea cup and saucer. 'Was that why you wished to see me?'

'No. I didn't know, until now. I want to talk to you about my uncle's proposal.'

'All right.'

'My uncles and wife believe I should take it. What do you think?'

Pavel snorted. This was unexpected. 'I think if I were you, my lord, I'd spit in my face and lock me in the darkest oubliette in this place.'

'Oh?'

'Oh. For whatever it's worth to you, we never meant for your lady mother to get hurt.'

'Did you do it?'

'Hard to say. There were a lot of spells flying. If I had to guess? No, probably not. I was fighting a tall blond man I think was Malfoy Sr.'

'Who did it?'

'Turgurlan, if anyone. He was the sort, to be sure. Careless and stupid.'

'Where is he now?'

'Hell, I would think. He fell over the parapet of Castle Borev into that spiked moat.'

'Ah.'

The girl poured him more tea. 'Biscuit, Mr. Pavel?'

'Thank you, no.'

The kid was still chewing this over. He looked at the girl, whose face never moved. Pavel could smell them both, the way they smelt of one another, and their happiness, which was as bubbly as champagne. He looked away, giving them a little privacy.

'Why did you attack that night?'

Pavel sat back in the chair. 'We wanted to scare them. Scare you.'

'Lestrange House was not enough?'

'It was the symbolism as much as anything. Let Europe see that the Dark Lord was not inviolable.'

'Striking at his most faithful would have that effect.' The girl was holding an unbitten biscuit in her hand, thoughtfully chewing her lip a little.

'Yes, exactly. It had to be someone people outside of Britain had heard of.'

They looked at one another again. 'And my uncle, Mr. Pavel?'

'Stefan came to us, not vice-versa.'

'How much?'

'A thousand.'

The kid nodded. 'Ah. Gold, I hope?'

'Yes. A thousand gold and false papers so he could get out of the country.'

'Did you actually mean to take the castle?'

Pavel considered. 'Well, yes and no. We were hoping he'd self-destruct, which he did. The actual castle was secondary.'

'Those men you conscripted?'

'We were trying to make the local people rise in open revolt. If you hadn't come when you did, we'd have succeeded.'

'What about my great-uncle?'

Pavel shook his head. 'Stefan did for him, I think. He went into the room and lord Borev was alive. When he came out, he had the ring and the body was gone.'

What exactly was this accomplishing? He understood wanting some answers, but surely they could discuss how he was useful to them now?

'Mr. Pavel?' The girl, looking at him curiously, head tipped a little. Her eyes were big and dark. If she'd been a bit older, Pavel would have thought they were eyes a man could fall into.

'If you don't mind my asking, why do you want to do these things? Surely a man as clever as yourself could find-'

'A man, my lady, or a beast?'

'A man. There must be something, surely, you could have done?'

'No. Werewolves are despised. When I got infected, I lost everything. I was thrown out of the veterinary program, my landlord evicted me, and I was sacked without references from my job. What was I supposed to do?'

She looked shocked. 'You mean there was nothing for you?'

'Not nothing. I moved back in with my parents and found some people in the same boat. When we got loud enough, our Ministry offered us a job.'

'There was no less violent way?'

'My lady, our society has deemed that people such as myself have two choices. We might accept our lot as pariahs, or we must fight to show that we are people too, and deserving of the same rights as anyone else.'

She nodded. 'I regret you went through all that.'

'Thank you, my lady. So do I.'

The kid set down his cup. 'Mr. Pavel, would you object to helping us with Bear this evening?'

'No, my lord.'

'All right. And then perhaps we might visit more?'

'I should like that.'

That night, Pavel followed a small group of elves to the Master suite. Bear was lying on his side, breathing shallowly. Still, his tail was wagging as the kid sat beside him and took the dog's head in his lap.

'It's all right, Bear.'

Bear whined faintly. It was time to go. The girl was standing close, where both boy and dog could see her. Pavel cleared his throat softly, not wanting to intrude on a private moment.

The uncles were also there, and they took turns stroking Bear's head. 'Thank you, Bear.'

Rumen Krum nodded, unable to speak. Pavel found he liked the fellow a little better now; harder to hate a man who loved dogs.

The elf handed over the phial. 'Mr. Pavel, would you mind?'

Pavel gently inserted the tip of a phial, which had a sort of glass funnel on it, and tipped the contents down the dog's throat. Bear relaxed, doggy-smiling as the pain drained away.

None of the rest of them could see it, but Pavel could. He smelt the moment the dog's spirit left his body and saw, like the vapour over a tea-kettle, the spirit itself resolve into the shape of the body it had just left. Bear barked once, soundlessly, and trotted off, young and strong again, bound for the third star on the right and on until morning.

'It's over.'

The kid nodded, still stroking the dog's ruff. 'Blixo, take him home, please.'

The three walked into the courtyard. It was a cool, comfortable night. From the other side of the courtyard, the Tamms waved and slipped away. Even from here, Madam Tamm's fear was palpable.

'Thank you for your help, Mr. Pavel.'

'My pleasure.'

They were all quiet a moment. The sounds of Sofia were faint here, but Pavel could smell the city. He wished he could wander the cobbles, have something to eat from a street-vendor, smile at pretty girls.

'I take it you know it was a test.'

'I'd gathered, yes.'

'I am satisfied, Mr. Pavel, that you are what you claim to be. So I suppose the question now, sir, is what to do with it?'

Pavel smiled slightly. 'Anything you'd like, my lord.'

The girl looked at her husband, clearly speculating. He gave it straight back. Pavel, with his heightened sense of body language, watched, fascinated by the subtle interplay of their gestures and smells, the ways they spoke to one another without saying a word.

'You know Anu Tamm, our aide?'

'It's safe to say.'

All three chuckled a little at the reminder and then the girl kept on. Pavel sensed no fear from her, not a bit. The others dogs were gathering, sniffing. Soon they would howl, knowing Bear had gone ahead of them.

Perhaps, thought Pavel, it was preferable to what humans did. Humans were obliged to go on without showing the world that they hurt. He wondered what the two of them did with their grief and anger.

'The Kasks, too? Vaike and Paavo?'

'Yes, I know Mr. Kask a bit.'

'They're Estonians. My cousin's promised to help them find the wolves who destroyed their towns. Could you help with that?'

'Back in '92, this would be, my lady?'

'Yes.'

'Those wolves could be dead by now. The answer is yes, but make sure they understand there's a limit to what I can do.'

'We will. What will you need?'

'It's my understanding Miss Kask was...' He'd heard that someplace, and he felt for her, even as he doubted he could find those men. Then again, anything was possible.

'Yes, she was.'

'The clothing she was wearing would be a start. If I can smell them, I'll have an easier time identifying the wolves responsible.'

Something passed over her face then, a shadow. Not of fear, but a shadow of something darker. When she spoke, her voice was very calm.

'You understand, Mr. Pavel, that I will not hesitate to address the issue if I feel you're playing us false?'

'I do.'

He'd seen how she addressed other issues, and wanted no part. He darted a glance at the kid, who was stone-faced. Interesting. Most interesting. Which of them, he wondered, was the alpha here?

'As for the Albanians, see if you can't get something of the wolves'. A bit of tunic would be fine.'

'I'll set Enver to it at once.'

'My lady?'

'Sir?'

'I won't lie to you about this. The things that happened in those places sicken me as well.'

She nodded. 'Your discretion, of course, is necessary as well.'

'Not a word. Would it be all right for me to speak to them? If Miss Kask is afraid, then perhaps her brother would speak for them both?'

The girl laughed a little. 'Vaike doesn't know what that word means.'

Pavel raised his head and sniffed the air as subtly as possible. It smelt like freedom. It smelt like his life was starting again.

Rumen Krum was coming toward them at a rapid clip, sidewhiskers twitching with displeasure.

'Bad news from England, my lord and lady. Perhaps we could speak inside?'

Scabior appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and gently tapped Pavel's shoulder.

'C'mon, Mr. Pavel. I'll walks you back t yer rooms, yeah?'

Pavel walked beside him. As they left, the first howls began, like the tuning-up of an orchestra.

Upstairs, Penko Krum greeted his niece and nephew with embraces and a kiss to Hermione's forehead. 'Are you both all right?'

Viktor nodded, looking downcast. 'It was time, Uncle. Past time. Pavel thinks he was waiting for me to come home.'

'I think so too. He's at peace now, Viktor.'

'I know.'

Penko held out the sheath of papers Sirius Black had brought them. The man himself was sitting on the divan in the corner, where Penko had once killed an auror. He rose now and repeated the greeting, giving his condolences about Bear and enquiring after Edric and Barty.

'Like ducks to water, is that the idiom? Edric's learnt three new words, and Barty's appointed himself Aunt Sose's protector.'

Black nodded, strangely shorn hair in peaks like meringue about his head. 'He's not scaring her?'

'She knows how he is. He follows her about helping her. He's his own goat now and everything.'

Black chuckled. 'Thank her for us, if you wouldn't mind. That's wonderful of her.'

'How is it at home? Uncle Rumen said bad news.'

'The Dark Lord's...he's testing Draco.'

'Testing him?'

'Sending him to infiltrate Romania and then assassinate Arthur Weasley.'

Penko felt his chest freeze. '**What**?'

The others looked no better. Hermione, lips colourless, clutched Viktor's arm. Viktor was sallow with shock and, his uncle guessed, anger. Black gave them a few more details and then sat back, waiting.

'How are they taking it?'

'Lucius blames himself. Narcissa's angrier than I've ever seen her.'

'And Drago, cousin?'

'Resigned. He's letters for you both. And Miss Kask.'

'What does Snape say to all this?'

Black smiled. He was quite a handsome fellow, Penko judged. Not that he would hurt Rab that way, of course, but a person does look a bit. Now, Rab and Black both...or Snape?...Penko decided this was not the time, and put his mind to other matters.

'He wants to talk with you about that. Needless to say, this isn't going to stand.'

'No, of course not.'

Viktor patted his wife's hand. 'We will do whatever it takes.'

Black handed over a packet of letters, each of them sealed tightly. 'For you all, including Edric.'

'How long will you stay with us, cousin?'

'As long as Snape doesn't need me.'

'Have you slept or eaten lately?'

'Not a bit. Came right from Skopje.'

'Why don't you have a meal and a nap and then we'll talk a bit more?'

'Thank you, darling, that sounds divine. How have you both been?'

'All right.'

Viktor nodded. 'No word from my father, Sirius?'

'None, lad. Your Grandmama wrote you a letter.'

'Is she well?'

Sirius inhaled. 'No. She is as comfortable as she can be, and she loves you all very much. If you'd like to give a return message, I'll take it at your word.'

'Thank you.'

The broke so Sirius could eat and nap, and when he'd been seen to by Niska and Winky, the four left in the office looked at one another.

Rumen, who had been silent thus far, broke the silence. 'Poor Lucius and Narcissa. My God.'

'Uncle, would you send for the Patriarch's men? I'd like masses said.'

'Viktor' said Hermione, appalled 'Draco's not dead.'

'No, he isn't, but I'm afraid a lot of others will be soon.'

Silence. Then Penko felt compelled to speak. He tried to remember a time before politics and couldn't. His whole world was this room, and the people in it the suns his planet revolved round.

'What's our next step, my lord and lady?'

Hermione spoke. 'We need to invite them here. The heads of state. Lay out our case and then try to sway them.'

'What about our agreement with the Dark Lord?'

'He voided that the second he tried to use our seneschal as an assassin. Viktor?'

'A studied insult, and patent stupidity. He's punishing Uncle Lucius and the others for helping us.'

'Our envoys?'

'This is past that. The Dark Lord is deliberately attempting to implicate us in this.' Hermione, like Penko imagined Narcissa to be, was angrier than he'd ever seen her, eyes glowing, cheeks pink.

'Once we've got the other countries, then what?'

Both of them seemed ages older to him. Penko stood up, startled by the small threads of silver in his nephew's hair. Hermione's bad hand was shaking too, hard, fingers flexing involuntarily.

Rumen gave him a look. Stop it, he mouthed. Penko gave the look straight back. We need to do this, it said. Children or no, they're heads of state. This is what has to happen.

'We'll have the Professor contact Miss Skeeter. She might have things we can use to sway them. If enough people get outraged, maybe we can negotiate with him.'

Penko came and sat next to his niece. He touched her cheek gently, wishing he could do this for the children rather than to them.

'Good ideas, Hermione. And then what?'

She shook her head. 'I don't know.' Her voice sounded small and hurt, like she'd abruptly remembered she was fourteen. Penko sat and put both arms about her, rubbing her back.

'You're doing well, love. I just want to show you what we're up against.'

'I know what we're up against.'

'Better than anyone does.'

She leant against him, sighing deeply. Her hand was twitching violently. Penko touched it lightly. It felt like the heartbeat of a dormouse, or the wings of a hummingbird.

'Viktor? What do you think?'

Viktor was still rubbing his head. 'What else can we do, Uncle, but push forward?'

Rumen sat on Viktor's other side, enclosing them as best they could in the illusory safety of their adults. 'We'll find a way, Viktor.'

'We always do, Uncle.' He didn't sound happy about it, and Rumen put a hand to the base of his neck, squeezing soothingly.

'Lots of priests, Uncle.'

'Shall I ask His Excellency to have every monastery in the country chant for us?'

'Would you?'

Hermione leant over and touched the back of his hand. Viktor straightened slowly, looking at her face.

'Hermione?'

'Viktor?'

'Vaike or Anu first?'

'Vaike. Then we'll take Sirius to visit Anu and tell him. Tell them.'

He nodded. When he stood he helped her up. They politely bid the uncles farewell and went to their rooms to deal with this in private. As Penko watched, his nephew's arm stole round his wife's waist. She leant against him a second and then they were walking down the corridor, talking quietly.

'Rumen?'

'Penko?'

'Whom do they remind you of?'

Rumen was quiet a minute. 'You were too young to have known them this way.'

'No, I wasn't.'

'You were eight.'

'Nine.'

'Still, that's too young.'

'Do they remind you of Martin and Zhivka, or not?'

'Yes' said Rumen reluctantly 'they do.'

The brothers Krum sat down and tried to make sense of what was happening, and how they could stop it.

Sose Tamm ended up finding out about Salazar, or rather Sirius, purely by accident. When Hermione and Viktor arrived, she'd taken the baby, after a suitable amount of time, and left the hall with Barty in tow.

Sose had been scared of Barty at first. He was tall, for one, and looked like he could outrun her. Then he'd smiled shyly and opened his mouth.

'You're Anu's mother. He's a very good boy, Anu. Do you really have goats at your castle?'

She'd nodded carefully. Anu had told her he wasn't quite right. Did that make him harmless? Did it make him dangerous?

He'd jiggled the baby and then smiled again. 'May I meet them someday? I've never got to pet a goat.'

'All right.'

He'd beamed, delighted. Then he'd leant toward her, lowering his voice a little. She'd gone very still, hoping he'd leave her alone, hoping he wouldn't say something crude.

'May Edric come to see the goats as well? We'll make you pictures after.'

Sose had slowly held out her hands for the baby, and Barty handed him over carefully, utterly solemn. How bad could a man be, that loved a child so much?

Now she was quite used to him. He was a child himself, more or less, and anyway, Sose had always heard that people like Barty were blessed. He trailed her about, chattering about any and everything.

When they'd got to the solar, Barty seriously went ahead, checking the corners. 'It's all right, Sose.'

She came in, setting Edric down in the sling she'd made for him. He flailed delightedly, bouncing in place. Barty took up his place across from Sose, Winky handing him his lapdesk and crayons.

'Apples is big now, isn't she?'

'She's very big.'

'Sose, is everything all right? Do you need a hug?'

She shook her head, knowing he was offering sincerely. 'I'm fine, Barty. Just a little tired.'

He frowned. 'Have you written Sev about it? He can help you, you know.'

She smiled and went back to mending. The baby, in his little sling, was still bouncing. Barty waved and Edric waved back and then clapped.

'H'lo, Bar'y! H'lo! Yay!'

'Hello, Edric.' Barty clapped right back, looking proud and pleased.

'He's such a smart boy, isn't he?'

'He is.'

Sose's fingers were crackling. Professor Snape said that it was rheumatism, and given her potions to help. She rose, setting down her sewing. He'd also told her that gentle exercise would do her good, and she hated bothering the elves.

'Barty, I'm going to get a potion. Would you stay with Edric?'

'Of course. Are you sure you don't want me to go?'

'No, a walk'll do me good.'

He nodded and went back to his picture. She slipped out, new wand in front of her. Mr. Scabior had made it clear through his wife that he'd put the word out to leave her be, but she worried sometimes all the same.

She could hear voices from the hall. Anu's raised in what was either shock or anger, and Viktor's deeper one speaking soothingly. Hermione, too, sounding as tired as Sose felt, and then another deeper voice.

She froze for a second, wand raised. It's just a guest of Viktor's, she told herself sternly. He wouldn't let someone hurt Anu or you. Just be calm, go meet him. Don't make them think you aren't grateful to them for everything they've done.

Her elf, Anu's gift to her, appeared, and so did Winky, doubtlessly sent by Barty to check on her. She felt safer with the elves there, and the extra confidence helped her to walk slowly to the door and wait by the lintel, not quite sure if she should go in.

Anu came to her, instead. His eye patch was gleaming mellowly in the light, and he looked grave, older. She felt a wave of love for him that was so strong it made her chest ache.

'Anu?'

'Nene, we should take a walk. Are you up to it?'

She nodded. The other two were quiet, and for the first time, she saw the big black dog, sitting at Hermione's feet. Sose raised a brow at her son.

'Nene?'

They walked toward an empty corridor. Goose had followed Sose, and he chuffed happily as he walked between them, sometimes snuffling softly and poking one of them with his nose so they'd pet his head.

'Nene?'

'Anu?'

'Salazar is here.'

'I saw.'

'He's not really a dog.'

She stopped. 'What?' On her other side, Goose whined softly and nuzzled her hand for attention.

'He's an animagus. A wizard who can turn into an animal.'

She blinked. 'Anu, that isn't funny.'

'No, he is. I didn't know until the day with the Dementors, but he is.'

She was trying to find words and failing. 'How...what is this?'

Anu sighed. 'He's a spy. Snape didn't tell anyone for a long time. I found out because when the Dementors came he was a wizard and then he turned into a dog. They don't want anyone to know. I would've told you but...'

'Did they ask you not to?'

Anu nodded. 'And I thought it might be scary for you.'

'Scary to know?'

'He was with us a lot, is all.'

Sose let it all process. 'He's never tried to hurt you?'

'Never. He's very nice, Nene.'

'I'm sure.'

'Are you angry?'

'No.'

Goose stopped chuffing and sat on his haunches, tongue lolling. He was a very sweet dog, but definitely not destined to the brains of the operation any time soon. Sose extended a hand to scratch his ruff and then hesitated.

'The others **are** dogs, aren't they?'

'Yes, Nene.'

Goose lapped her hand, snorting with pleasure. Anu knelt and the dog half tackled him, barking with excitement. Anu rolled, laughing as the dog pinned him and then let himself be pinned in return. Sose gave them both a look and they stopped, Anu dusting himself off gently and Goose settling by their feet, panting a bit.

'Nene? Are you all right?'

Sose had been through a lot in her life. She'd wandered, pregnant and forsaken, through the mountains in search of a home at fifteen. She'd got an education for her son despite being so afraid of the man she'd had to ask that she'd vomited after. She'd kicked that horrible Turgurlan in the groin when he propositioned her, and then been too scared to leave her rooms for three days after.

Now, she decided, was the time for courage. Drago needed them-needed her, Sose, and her son. She squared her shoulders and gave her son a friendly pat on the back.

'Introduce me to Mr. Black, Anu?'

'You're sure, Nene?'

'I should thank him, is all.'

Anu turned and hugged her suddenly. He did that less these days, so she treasured it, knowing these times would fade as he got older.

'You know, Drago said once he thinks you're a very brave lady. I think so too.'

He released her, and went to introduce his terrified mother to a strange man in their home.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Love to reviewers, Countess Black and mods :)**

** What mods, you ask? Why, the ones for the new Strange and Invisible-verse online RPG, of course! Would you like to spend more time in-verse? Have a conversation with Snape? Get hair tips from Lucius Malfoy? All this and more can be yours! Please follow the link in my profile, or PM either CB or myself for more information.**

**Also, in the course of this chapter, there's a lot of frank talk about disability. One of the characters uses a word that could easily be construed as offensive. In context, I think he's using that word as a means of owning the change in his life-it can't hurt him if he takes the word's power by using it himself. **

In Britain, Draco Malfoy was taking a walk. He ranged across the grounds of Malfoy Manor, stopping to pet the peacocks or talk to a statue. He felt very calm, almost anesthetised.

The Dark Lord had granted him a final night with his parents. They were inside, with the aunts and uncles, waiting for him. He would come in time, soon now, very soon. But not at this moment.

The roses had died, but there were plenty of other frangrants, and he wandered through them. Ridgey appeared, bowing, and made him small tussy-mussies to bring to the ladies, and ones for Grandmama and Aunt Cunegarde as well.

When the elf had finished, Draco startled himself by giving him a quick hug. Everything about this place seemed precious to him now, even the elves. Ridgey sniffled, still saying nothing.

'Thank you, Ridgey.'

He took the basket and went back inside, still calm. He wished his walk had felt less like saying goodbye.

Inside, he went to the cellar. The elves had left fruit and wine for him, a large container of very expensive incense and, incongruously, a small package of chocolate frogs. Draco knelt down, washing his hands in the water the elf brought him. He closed his eyes as the elf trickled a stream down his head, over his eyes and into his mouth to cleanse him.

Clean now, he poured the wine into a brazier. It hissed, and he felt the first stirrings of the response, the ancestors gathering to hear his pleas. He chanted the prayers necessary for that to happen and then sat back on his heels and sighed.

He dropped a chocolate frog into the brazier. 'Drusilla? It's Draco. I need your help.'

He dropped another one. 'Watch Mother and Father for me, all right? The rest of them too, but especially Mother and Father. They need you. They need both of us, really, but I have to go now. I mightn't ever come back.'

He could feel, like a warm blanket, the spirits drawing closer. It was comforting to him, usual. He dropped the third frog on the brazier and inhaled, the burning cocoa scorching his sinuses. He didn't mind it; not if it would make his little sister happy.

'Drusilla...I'm glad you were spared this. We had to send Edric away, and now I look at them and...thank God you're safe. Keep an eye on Father, especially. He's having a hard time right now.'

He still had most of a box of chocolate frogs. He poured more wine and on raised his hands, palms up, eyes closed. He was nervous about this next part. He'd always felt safe calling on familial spirits-it was, to his way of thinking, no more different than going down a corridor to ask Father a question, or tease Hermione, or speak to one of the uncles-but this was new-made land, and that set him on edge.

Well, needs must is needs must. He inhaled deeply and started to chant, voice rising and falling. Some of the names were from Beauxbatons, and meant little to him. Others were from Hogwarts, names connected dimly with faces grown faint with time. He'd known some of them, surely, but the childish feelings he'd had for them had long since faded into the half-remembered Before of his life as it had been prior to the day Father had told him he was going to Durmstrang.

Mostly, though, they were the names and faces of the After. Boys-men-with whom Draco had eaten, slept beside, killed with. Men he'd seen die, men who'd asked him things or laughed with him or done lessons next to him.

Would they come if he asked them? Would they help him if they came? Draco threw on the first chocolate frog. It sometimes came to him at odd hours that four hundred and some of his peers, out of the slightly less than a thousand who'd left, would never get to do this again.

Did they resent him? He might not live to grow old. He might never marry or father a child or even get to make love to a woman, but he had a better chance than did his friends, whose spirits he called now in a desperate act of faith.

'Hans Espe, Oni Salo, Daan Visser, Kaspar Koppel, Eetu Turunen, Botond Balogh, Marko Elez, Szymon Mazur, Zoltan Nagy, Mikele Galea, Sem Smits, Izaak Vella, Magnus Bohler, Luka Capan, Matias Armundsen-'

Draco poured on more wine. Sweat was slowly working its way down his spine. He could feel electricity in the air, the sense of drawing closer, the sense of being listened to. I led you to your deaths, he whispered, forgive me now, help me, help us.

The list was long. So many names, something in him muttered, so many beds empty now in the dorms, so many faces missing at meals, so many chairs vacant during the free period.

What right did he have to ask them for help? What right did he have to help at all? If it wasn't for him-no. No, he hadn't done this. He'd told them what it was and they'd made the choice. Perhaps, because of that, they'd help them, the men of Durmstrang, living and dead, come together a final time to end this once and for all.

'Emil Abazi, Gustavs Ods, Matas Kazlar, Seban Hoxha, Maksims Taube, Nojus Whitkas, Jakub Kowalski, Oscar Palme-'

Closer now, and smells, and sounds. Voices, the salty cold smell of the lake during winter swimming, the de-lousing powder the elves sprinkled on the bedding, laughter in the night, heels clacking to salute the Superintendent, Vaike's neck, singing, shouting, Ismaili's orisons on the deck of the ship, bowing in unison with the others, preparing for the end.

He put another frog down and poured more wine. His hands were shaking, but that was all right. They knew how it had been. Perhaps here, at last, Draco was finally amongst people who understood.

'I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need-it's not over. It's not over.'

He could feel them all round him, holding him in their midst like blankets of mist and memory.

'We need you. Viktor and I, and my cousin, and all the rest of them. Help us now. Avenge yourselves, and when it's finally done we'll honour you. I'll honour you. Build something, or -I don't know what. But help us, please.'

He threw on another frog, more wine. The air moved, more smells, more sounds. Coarse black bread, sweat, broom grease, dust, blood, burning. Snow, freshly fallen, on skin hot from running. His head was swimming with it, heady with remembrances.

This one was hardest. Was there even a procedure for this? Draco thought not. He plunged ahead, mouth dry. He took a swallow of wine and poured most of the rest on the brazier, all of it in a hissing stream.

'Potter? It's Malfoy. I know I was an arse to you, all right? I was, I was a little bastard when I was young, but it's-that's not what's important here. Hermione's what's important.'

Could Potter hear him? Did he want him to? Draco could recall their meetings with clarity, could remember the hatred he'd felt, or thought he felt for the other boy. Now he knew what hate was, and he was appealing to Potter's better nature, hoping against hope that if the bloke was there, he would come to Hermione's aid.

'She loved you, I think. Both of you-Weasley too. I'm to try to kill the father, and I-I don't want to do this, Potter. If you ever loved my cousin, and Weasley, help me end this thing. Help me make it so he can't hurt anyone else.'

He unwrapped the rest of the frogs and dropped them into the brazier one by one. The smell was choking but he kept pushing forward. He'd learnt that from Viktor, and it stood him in good stead now.

He drank the final bit of the wine and steeled himself for what was to come. He took the knife, razor sharp, handle worn with the palms of Malfoys past, and held out a finger, sliced the tip. His blood-pure blood, powerful blood-spattered onto the brazier, adding to the burning stink of chocolate and the higher, shriller wine. Draco didn't registered the pain. Was this worth killing for? Blood? Worth dying for?

The spirits of his dead friends-and Potter, perhaps- were skin to skin with him now. He felt no anger from them, but a burning, terrible eagerness to see this done. Four hundred names, he thought. How many mothers? Fathers? Girlfriends? Boyfriends? Nieces and nephews?

'I hereby bind myself in solemn oath, in the sight of the living and the dead. I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, vow to help defeat the Dark Lord through any means available, to help stabilise Europe, and to assure this doesn't happen again, insofar as I can.'

Blood was running down his finger. He ignored it. Let it be enough. Please, please, let it be enough. 'All this, and more, do I swear, if you'll but help me now.'

He finished the ritual and then left the elf to clean up, healing his finger and hoping he'd done the right thing.

He wasn't the only one. In Sofia, a very odd thing was happening. The Vicereine of Bulgaria, most feared woman in Europe, called the Lady of the Breach by the songwriters, was blindfolded and laughing as her husband spun her.

She laughed harder as Viktor let go and danced nimbly back. Hands up, Hermione lurched towards his voice, cautiously stepping to avoid Zenobia or Edric.

On her other side, a small hand darted out and nearly touched her. She sensed it and shot her hand downward, feeling warm little fingers in her own. 'Yana?'

Yana threw her arms round Hermione. 'Yes, it's me.'

Hermione took off the blindfold and beamed at the children gathered round her. Yana and Ivan, Anu and Barty, Edric, toddling about a bit away, minded by Lady. Zenobia Dinev, clutching Viktor's hand, Kliment Vidanov's two grandsons, a dozen more that were somewhere between hostages and guests.

'Well, everyone, shall we play a bit more?'

Vigorous assent. Yana gave her turn to a younger girl and slipped a hand into Hermione's. Hermione sat on the nearest bench and Yana climbed into her lap, snuggling close.

'Hermione, is something wrong?'

'I was just going to ask you that, Yana.'

Yana shook her head Bulgarian-style. 'No. May we go and see Aunt Zhivka later?'

'Let me see what I need to do.'

'Do you remember when you first came to live with us?'

Hermione caught Viktor's eye and he nodded slowly, swinging Zenobia up on his hip. She hugged his neck; Zenobia seemed to like all of them, but she adored Viktor, and he was pleased to indulge her by toting her about.

'I do. Is it all right if Viktor and Zenobia join us?'

Yana nodded, head on Hermione's shoulder. 'She's so cute, isn't she?'

It felt strange to hear Yana say that. She was seven now, tall and sandy-haired. Hermione grinned and hugged her little cousin closer as Viktor sat beside them, gently shifting the constantly chattering Zenobia to his lap. She bent toward Hermione and gave she and Yana both sticky little kisses on the cheek before she continued her excited commentary about any and everything.

'Yana and I might go to Castle Krum later, Viktor. Would you like to come?'

Viktor gently set Zenobia down. 'Zenobia, go and see Barty, all right?'

She took off, still talking. He watched her go, shaking his head with amusement.

'I'd like that, yes. Is something wrong, Yana, or did you just want to visit Mother?'

'See Aunt Zhivka.' She shifted, face drawn together, and fell silent. Clearly, she was working through something in her own mind.

'Yana?' Viktor touched her cheek gently, and she closed her eyes, sighing deeply.

'Do you need to put up a bubble for us to talk?'

Hermione, startled, hugged Yana more tightly as Viktor did so, first gently shooing Zenobia toward Barty, who swung her up and then round whilst she giggled. The three sat in silence for a moment.

'Yana, love?'

'Drago is in danger, isn't he?'

'What makes you say that, Yana?' Hermione tried to sound bright and reassuring, mentally vowing to tick off the person who'd let the kneazle out of this particular sack, thank you.

'He didn't come back. Aunt Zhivka didn't come back for a long time. She'd got hurt.'

'You think Drago is hurt?'

Yana shook her head, braids flying. 'Not yet. I think he will be if we don't help him.'

'Help him how, Yana?'

'We have to tell the Dark Lord he has to come home.'

She said it with total, simple faith that they could do that. Hermione found it hurt, and remembered once telling Professor Snape that love was scary sometimes. She'd meant it was scary to love someone that could leave one; now she saw the other side, how scary it was to be loved so deeply that another person thinks you invincible.

'It's not that simple, Yana. It's politics.'

'Viktor' said Yana patiently 'you've got an army. Can't Papa remind him of that?'

Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing. 'Yana, the Dark Lord knows about our army.'

'Well, he isn't acting like it.'

Now Viktor was smiling, digging his nails into his palms to keep from laughing out loud. 'No, he isn't.'

Yana looked stern, brows folded together in the most Rumen-ish way possible. 'Have you explained that Vaike is very lonely now?'

Hermione couldn't look at her husband. She snorted helplessly, trying to turn it into a cough. Beside her, Viktor was shaking with laughter.

'That's not what politics is about, Yana.'

'Well, it should be. Maybe if people didn't feel sad all the time they wouldn't fight so much.'

Viktor ruffled her hair. 'That's probably true.'

'You're the tsar, Viktor. Make them listen to you.'

'I'm not the tsar, Yana. I'm just protecting the country.'

She huffed, gently patting his arm. 'It's almost the same, and anyway, everyone stands up when you enter the room.'

That was indisputable, so Viktor looked at Hermione, clearly imploring. She rubbed Yana's back for a second, buying time.

'What can we do right now to help, Yana?'

'We should go and visit Aunt Zhivka. That's a start.'

So that's what they did.

Nicolae Pavel was waiting for her-for them-when they got back. Between Snape and Kreacher, they'd kitted him out magnificently in auror's robes, the right sort of shoes and, most importantly, a wand, his own having been broken in the fray in front of Castle Krum.

Beside her, Viktor was stiff, jaw set. She smiled up at him and then stepped closer to Pavel. 'Bind us, Viktor, if you would?'

Viktor clamped down even harder but drew on them. Hermione reached out her arm and Pavel seized her gently just below the elbow. His grip was careful but she could feel the huge strength of his hand. It was slightly like being held in Nagini's coils, that sense of gentleness containing strength which could cuddle or kill at leisure.

She clamped right back all the same. Viktor's hand ghosted over her shoulders for a second but his voice sounded steady, if remote. She wondered if she could help with this and whether she ought to, or if he had to go this road alone.

'Do you, Nicolae Pavel, vow to deliver Draco Malfoy to us alive and unharmed as best you can?'

'I do.'

'Do you vow to help find the werewolves responsible for raping Vaike Kask and those that destroyed Enver Vata's village, and Anu Tamm's, assuming that is possible?'

'I do.'

The light was fading, and Hermione held on until Viktor nodded. She released Pavel's arm and stepped back. He knelt in a single smooth motion and swore his fealty to them, now and forever.

Kreacher came when she called him, and she watched him go as her husband held her good hand, locked together in their trust for their former enemy, and their hope that they'd done the right thing, after all.

Fortunately, the rest of Europe knew nothing of these machinations. The envoys had been sent, and across the Balkans, tense meetings in small rooms were taking place.

In Tallinn, Vaike Kask, uncomfortably attired in formal robes, fought the urge to brush her hair, fashionably arranged about her face, off her brow. The Minister was studying her intently, and it would not do to play the fragile woman now.

Beside her, Paavo leant forward. 'Minister' he said 'if Krum says a thing, I'd stake my soul on his being right. Or truthful, at least.'

'An important distinction, to be sure. Miss Kask, your own thoughts on the matter?'

Vaike could sense that this was a seminal moment in her life, dancing on the edge of a knife. To move too strongly to either side would be to fall. She inhaled deeply, fingers finding the medal her mother had given her for courage. It was a Portkey, one she'd used to take the battered remains of her troops back to the ships at Castle Dinev.

'Minister, Estonia is a small country, and a poor one. We could only benefit from having a standing army at our disposal. If we should need it, then it would only be fair for us to kick in by sending aurors. If we should not, then surely peace would be the result of having a force too strong to be a target.'

Paavo's eyes widened. The Minister sat back, steepling his blunt little fingers thoughtfully. 'It is most irregular that two schoolchildren should come to me and demand an army.'

Paavo raised his head. 'Krum's surrounded himself with those he deems most loyal to himself.'

'Where does that leaveEstonia, I wonder?'

'Estonia's interests lie with the rest of the Balkans, Minister. Krum means for their to be peace and prosperity.'

'A lovely vision, Mr. Kask.'

'A vision of the future, Minister.'

Vaike could stand no more. She leant across the desk a bit. 'Minister, you've heard the stories about what goes on in England. Hermione's parents went to prison for him and he still threw them away when he was done with them. What does that tell you about what he'd do to the rest of us?'

The Minister was still deep in thought. 'The Lestranges, yes. Are the stories true, would you say?'

Vaike considered. 'At Castle Dinev, I saw Bellatrix Lestrange stand in a courtyard, surrounded by enemy dead, and still scream for more to come and fight her. Yes, I think a lot of it is true.'

'Not all of it?'

'I don't know.'

'There would seem to be a lot of that going round, Miss Kask.'

Paavo grunted with annoyance. 'Come to Sofia, then, Minister, and see what you make of things. Krum will tell you what I have.'

'No doubt he will.'

'Hermione.' Both men looked at her, and Vaike felt herself wanting to look away but didn't.

'She helped save us at the castle, Minister. She led a sortie that got a lot of us clear to Apparate when they gave the order. If nothing else, a lot of Estonians owe her their lives. That's worth something, I should think.'

The Minister chuckled softly. 'You make a good case, Miss Kask.'

'It's a good case to be made, Minister.'

He laughed again. 'Twin envoys, yet! That's a first. All right, tell Krum I await his invitation.'

'We will, Minister. Thank you.'

The Minister made a wry face. 'What is an appropriate hostess gift, do you expect, for a schoolboy turned Alexander?'

Vaike smiled a little. 'A globe, with all the countries that aren't Estonia picked out in bright colours.'

'What makes you say that, Miss Kask?'

'It will be a very large standing army, Minister. We might want to be sure not to look too tempting should we decide against joining.'

Back in their rooms, the twins were quiet, lost in their own thoughts. Vaike changed into casual clothing and sat down in a chair, running her hands through her hair distractedly.

'Vaike?'

'Paavo?'

'What do you think?'

Paavo shook his head and propped his stump up on a stool an elf had placed discreetly nearby. It wasn't really a stump, exactly-he still had part of his heel, after all, -but it was close enough, and it was still, six months later, a shock to look down and see the absence there.

'I think we'll do it.'

He nodded, reached down to chafe irritably at his ankle. He'd worn his prosthesis, and the leather straps bothered him. Vaike sometimes thought the idea, not the straps, was what rubbed him raw.

'I'd be surprised if we didn't.'

'Me, too.'

Paavo stood up, leaning on his stick, and crossed the room so he could pace.

'We'd damned well better. Winter is coming, Vaike.'

'I know.'

He was still pacing. 'Krum'll do it. Convince him. Convince all of them.'

'Hermione too.'

Paavo stopped pacing. 'You know, I'd never tell anyone this, but she's scarier than him by a mile.'

Vaike nodded at once. 'You didn't see her at Castle Dinev. The man next to her got his head blown off and she didn't even flinch.'

'Wouldn't want to cross her.'

'Either of them.'

'Any of them.'

Paavo snorted. 'Except Malfoy. You remind him what I told him I'd do if I caught him getting fresh with you.'

'Honestly, Paavo.'

'I did.'

'You berk.'

'He's got this look he gets, and then I know he's thinking on it.'

'I think on it, sometimes.'

Paavo laughed, leant on his stick. 'That's terrible, Vaike.'

'I do.'

'I don't want to know that.'

'Like you don't.'

'I'm not you.'

'Almost.'

'I'm better looking.'

She laughed too, and stood up. 'If Drago and I wed, we'll have to-'

He was adamantly shaking his head. 'No.'

'No?'

'Never. I'll kill him if he does.'

'Paavo.'

'I will.'

'I'm older than you and him both.'

'Doesn't matter.'

'You tosser.'

'Shouldn't you be nicer to me? I'm a cripple.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Paavo, stop it.'

'I am.'

'So what? You're crippled and I'm ruined, but the world is still turning and the sun is still out. Things must be all right.'

Her brother was unusually quiet. 'Vaike?'

'Hmm?'

'You're full of shite. Always have been.'

'Did it make you feel better, you arse?'

'Not as good as getting that lump of wood off my leg.'

'Are you going to fight?'

Paavo straightened up. 'Damned right I am.'

'Me, too.'

'Wish you wouldn't. Ema's going to be sick, worrying.'

Vaike made a face at her brother, mouth contracting sharply and brows raised almost to her hairline.

'Don't you try that on me, Paavo Kask. I know exactly what you're doing, and Ema's just as worried about you as she is about me .'

Paavo shifted uncomfortably. 'Well, yes, but...'

'No, no buts. Just because I'm female doesn't mean I should stay here and tend goats or something.'

'Yes, because we have so many goats that need tending.'

'You know what I mean.'

'I just don't want you to get hurt.'

She touched her twin's cheek. 'Paavo, I got hurt at Aunt Ines's house. At least now I can fight back.'

Paavo looked away. 'I know, I know. I just hate this, is all. You're my twin.'

'I'll always be your twin.'

He sighed deeply, rubbing his jaw. 'Is that why you're as stubborn as I am?'

'Probably. Smarter and better looking, though.'

'Bollocks.'

'No, it isn't.'

Paavo rolled his eyes and startled his sister by leaning over and kissing her brow. 'Promise me you'll be careful, Vaike. Promise me.'

'I promise. You, too?'

He nodded. 'Me, too.' Then he silently rose and went to rest, his stick clattering against the floor.

In Britain, Bellatrix would have known exactly what Vaike Kask's Ema was going through. She was with her sister, arm about Cissy's waist, head leant against her arm. Cissy was crying softly, eyes shut.

'Cissy…'

Narcissa said nothing, sniffling child-like, even rubbing her eyes a little with her fingers. It was oddly touching to see her sister this way again. How long had it been?

'Snape will find a way, Cissy. He's an arse and a pillock, but he's a clever pillocky arse, isn't he?'

Narcissa finally answered. 'Oh, Trixie, how do you do it? How did you ever do it?'

Bellatrix closed her eyes and breathed deeply for a moment. 'I don't know. Isn't that stupid? Can't even imagine. I suppose it all seemed very reasonable until it didn't.'

Narcissa's beautiful face was swollen, her makeup run. She turned to her sister and smiled a hideous watery rictus.

'Fix my face, Trixie, would you? It's his last name. I mustn't upset him.'

Bellatrix cast a quick glamour to hide the tearstains. She took another second to smooth her sister's robes and hair a little.

On their way, the spare form of Severus Snape moved from a shadow as though he'd detached from it. He bowed. Narcissa was looking at him piercingly, the glamour blurring her ever so slightly. Bellatrix had the idea that Snape could sense tears on others. She wished she wasn't so grateful to him, so she could hate him again.

'I've a plan but it will be dangerous. Bellatrix, Narcissa?'

'Anything.' Cissy was smiling at him, face melting back into the usual smoothly attractive, youthful visage. Bellatrix stepped up. She came to his chest.

'Well, what are you waiting for, Snape? Lead on.'


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**I'm sorry this took so long. My personal life is in turmoil right now, so things are sort of crazy. I'm going to try to get back on schedule soon.**

** If anyone is interested in the new RPG, please PM. It is open, so feel free to register and start a thread whenever you'd like.**

Lemuel Scabior got the word just after midnight, so at dawn he kissed his wife goodbye, tugging irritably at the collar of his new, dull robes. Alise kissed him back and gravely stepped away.

'Looks good, Lem.'

'Doan never tells nobody you seen me like this, girl. I means it.' He tried to look intimidating but she just laughed softly and kissed him again, and then pinned his badge over his heart. Scabior made a face but permitted the badge, and then nodded, slipping into character.

Penko Krum, who'd politely busied himself elsewhere whilst the Scabiors were saying goodbye, came up now and handed him a sheath of official looking papers.

'Good luck, Scabior.'

'Thank you, sir.' Scabior dropped his voice and leant a touch closer. 'You'll take care a er, wonts you, if I shud die?'

'On my life, Lemuel.'

It was the best he could hope for, and Scabior knew that. He held out a hand and an elf came and took him, out of Bulgaria and to a place under a spreading tree. Macedonia, he suspected, and looked round, wand drawn.

A shadow broke away and resolved into Pavel, bowing with a touch of sardonic humour.

_'Mr. Scabior, Niska, how good to see you again.'_

_'An yerself, sir. Thanks, Niska_.'

The elf nodded and disappeared. Scabior sat down on a rock under the tree, wondering whether he should talk to the werewolf or perhaps just leave him to his thoughts. Pavel seemed interested in speaking, though, because a moment later, he said _'What do you like to read, Scabior?'_

_'Read?'_

_'Read.'_

_'Loads a things, I 'spect. An you?'_

Pavel shrugged. _'Lots of things. I meant to catch up on all the reading I didn't do when I was younger, but you know how it is.'_

Scabior knew no such thing, but he nodded gravely. _'Yer parents didnt allows no books in the ouse, like?'_

_'Not allow books in the house?'_

_'Yeah. Mine didn't. Obed cud only alf read, an e thoughts books'd give us ideas above ourselves_.'

Pavel nodded slowly. _'Oh. No, we had books.'_

_'Why didn't you reads em, then?'_

_'I did. Just not all of them.'_

_'Why not?'_

Pavel laughed softly. _'I wanted to read things I liked. Graphic novels, horror, things like that.'_

_'Graffic novels? What're those, then?' _Was Pavel having him on?

_'Books told in pictures, sort of. Comic books.'_

_'Oh, awrite. Yer parents must've luved that one.'_

Scabior shook his head, smiling a little. _'Me Mam used'a give Nora coins, betimes, to go and get books to looks at. Me Da found er once and belted her, though_.'

He frowned, glad he'd killed Obed. Would their lives have been different if they'd been allowed books?

_'I'm sorry to hear that.'_

_'Me, too, but they've all died now. We're the only ones left, me wife an me._'

Pavel nodded. _'Me, too. I've no siblings.'_

_'Yer Mam must be alf-mad, wondering bout you.'_

_'The Vicereine was kind enough to have letters sent. And my mother's a tough woman. She rides a motorcycle.'_

_'Really?'_

_'Yes. She teaches English at a university—a school for adults._'

Scabior snorted. _'Yer pullin me leg, now.'_

_'No, I'm not.'_

_'School fer adults? You are.'_

_'No, this is real. You can ask the Vicereine.'_

_'Doan think as I wonts, then.'_

Pavel reminded Scabior a bit of Llewellyn, really. Not physically, but in his bearing, and the way he talked about books and such things. Alise, Scabior abruptly thought, might like talking about books, perhaps.

_'What books d'you read, then? What sort?_'

Pavel turned sharply, wand raised, but the crackle in the underbrush was just a rabbit. It bounded away from them, white tail flashing as it ran. Pavel seemed to consider a bit.

_'I like dramas, I suppose. And some non-fiction.'_

_'Non-fiction?'_

_'Books about things that happened.'_

_'Oh. Not stories, then.'_

_'Sometimes they are. Truth is stranger than fiction.'_

_'Yeah? Ask you sumthin?'_

_'Of course.'_

_'Ow'd a smart bloke like you ends up doin this?'_

_'Waiting in a field, or working in our line of employment?'_

_'S'one n the same at the moment, yeah?'_

Pavel laughed. _'Touché. It's a long story.'_

_'I gots the time.'_

_'True enough. Will you tell me your story after?'_

_'Awrite, but it aints much.'_

_'Everyone's story is interesting to me.'_

A thinky bloke like Pavel would say that sort of thing. Scabior kept one eye on the field and gave the werewolf a look at the same time.

_'I was nineteen. I was getting ready to start training as a large animal veterarian—a medi-wizard for animals—and my two best friends were going to start training as aurors. We'd borrowed Gavril's father's car, and we drove toward Transylvania. Stopped to help this fellow, said he needed a ride. He transformed when the moon rose and attacked us.' 'Cor, that's orrible. Yer friends awrite?'_ Pavel sounded tired and old. _'No. He killed Florian outright. He mauled Gavril and bit me on the shoulder.' _

Pavel pulled away the collar of his robes to show an old scar on his collarbone, healed now, simply dimples in the flesh._ 'I'm sorry.''So am I.'_Scabior had to know. _'Where's e now? Yer friend?''He killed himself.' _

Scabior knew how that felt, when a loved one did that. _'Sorry to ear, I am.'_

_'Thank you. I had nowhere else to go, and nothing to do, so I joined a group of people like myself. When we got large enough, the Ministry took us into its employ.'_

_'Did you likes it?'_

Pavel seemed to consider. _'I don't care for violence, especially, but it felt better than doing nothing. The first thing I did was lead them after the one who'd bitten us. Florian and Gavril and I.'_

_'You find im?'_

_'We did. It was how he made a living, apparently. They solved a good forty disappearances that way.'_

_'An then Britain?'_

_'No, that wasn't for a long time. What about you?'_

Scabior wondered how to condense his life into a few words.

_'Nothin to tells. We lived in a flat an me Da worked fer a potions concern, shellin an corin all day. I fell in with a crowd oo taughts me ow to do other things.'_

_'And then what?'_

_'I killed this bloke oo'd been botherin me sister. She did erself in after.'_

_'I'm sorry.'_

Scabior nodded his acknowledgment. _'So I wents to prison an now ere I am.'_

_'Both of us.'_

_'Yeah. You think, Pavel...'_

_'I think what?'_

_'Bloke like me culd learn yer books?'_

Pavel nodded. _'I think so.'_

_'You aint foolin me?'_

_'No.'_

Pavel said nothing, nor Scabior, but the seed had been planted. Could the likes of Lem Scabior read a whole book? A thick book, written by a gentlemen? A year earlier, Scabior would have laughed. Now, though, he was married to a well-born lady, and it seemed to him that he should try to be worthy of her.

_'Awrite then.'_

_'Quite.'_

A third man was coming toward them, a tall-ish fellow with short dark hair and a smile on his face. Kreacher the elf was with him, face set in swags and lines of displeasure.

_'Hello, lads, fine day for a bit of international treachery, isn't it?'_

_'Oo are you?'_

_'Snape sent me. You're Lemuel Scabior, and your mother's given name was Chryse.'_

_'An the other one, friend?'_

_'Pavel. Enver Vata Polyjuiced himself to look like you.'_

_'All right.'_

The three regarded one another another moment. Finally Pavel spoke. _'And your name, sir?'_

_'Black.'_

Scabior cocked his head and his mind kicked into gear_. 'Fuck me if it aint Sirius Black.'_

The man cocked his head straight back. _'And somewhat less dead than you'd imagined, I expect.'_

_'S'pose so. Well, yer ere now.'_

Pavel was still quiet. _'I've the oddest feeling we've met before, Mr. Black._'

_'I've just got one of those faces.' _He stopped, head oddly tilted to the side, and then laughed.

_'I was half expecting Snape to burst out of nowhere and make a remark about that.'_

_'Doan suspect as the Professor's much the burstin sort, Mr. Black.'_

_'You'd really be very surprised, Scabior.' _

The three of them settled down to wait. Black and Pavel were quiet, lost in their own thoughts. Finally Pavel brought out some odd sticks of tobacco and asked whether anyone minded.

_'Naw, go head.'_

_'Not a bit. How is Madam Scabior doing, Scabior?'_

_'She's well. Missed the Vicereine sumthin awful, you kin imagine.'_

_'I can. And Barty?'_

Scabior smiled a little. _'E walks the patrols with me sumtimes. Nice bloke, Mr. Crouch.'_

Pavel was still giving him that strangely interested look. _'He seems it. Very taken with Madam Tamm, I think.'_

_'Madam Tamm is a fine lady.'_ Scabior felt protective of the poor woman, who didn't have a husband or brother to help her should she need it.

_'Yes, she is. I didn't mean it like that, just that he's fond of her.'_

_'E does is best, to be sure.'_

Pavel nodded peaceably. _'As we all do.'_

Black settled against the tree, sitting loosely. _'Any notion of when they'll come?'_

_'Should be a while, sez Mr. Krum.'_

The three of them chatted about sports and women until Kreacher popped back in. _'They are leaving Hogwarts now.'_

The three jumped up, Disillusioning one another rapidly. Less than five minutes later, young Malfoy, flanked by two aurors, popped into the clearing as well. It was a short battle, and at the end the Malfoy lad was embracing Black and shaking the hands of the other two.

_'We need to go, kid. The others are waiting for you.'_

_'What about them?'_

Pavel smiled a little. _'Let us worry about that, all right? Your lady cousin is eager to see you again.'_

Black Apparated the kid, and Scabior looked at the two supine aurors. _'We goin to do fer em?'_

_'No. There's a cave not far from here. Help me drag them, would you?'_

He did, and soon the two men were staring at the aurors. Scabior had an urge to rifle their pockets but sternly fought it. He was a man of substance now; gentlemen did not rob those they had just assaulted.

_'So what we gonna do, then?'_

Pavel calmly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small flask. _'Polyjuice.'_

_'Huh?'_

The elf appeared, glowering, and held out an envelope and a set of clothes. Pavel ripped open the envelope and dropped a hair from it into the flask. He downed it and then, as quickly as that, young Malfoy was there before him where Scabior had stood.

_'There's been a change of plans.'_

How odd, to hear young Malfoy's nobbish tones from Pavel's mouth. _'I've found the leads on those wolves the Estonians want, so I suspect they'll pursue that, at some point. As for me, I'm Malfoy until future notice.'_

_'The Krums know, do they?' _Scabior asked, feeling a sense of unreality.

_'It's on their orders._' Young Malfoy's face twisted a little. _'I'm a man of my word, Scabior._'

_'Never said as you aint, mate. Jus checkin. I owes Flower as much as you. Mebbe more, yeah?'_

_'Fair enough. Yes, they know.'_

_'What'll you do, then?'_

_'The Dark Lord expects sightings of Malfoy. That's what I'll give him.'_

Scabior was nodding. _'Best a luck, then, friend.'_

_'And yourself. I'll be back in a few days—wouldn't do for the spies to see too much, would it? We'll talk about books.'_

_'I'd like that.'_

_'Scabior?'_

_'Yeah?'_

_'Be careful.'_

Scabior nodded as the wolf vanished, and then Apparated himself back to the Ministry, not wholly sure what had happened.

In England, Malfoy Manor was silent. Snape was in the library, waiting for the former Black sisters to make an appearance. The door swung open and Snape rose, bowing. The snake was with them, and slithered to stand beside Narcissa, who looked absolutely sick, skin grey, lips a chalky pinkish-beige. She smiled at him and sank into a chair as her sister moved to stand at her shoulder, glaring fiercely at the world.

'Ladies, good afternoon.'

'Snape.'

'Hello, Severus. Are you well?'

'I could ask the same of you, madam. Go and lie down and I'll be up to give you something.'

'No, no, I'm fine.'

'Narcissa' said Bellatrix immediately 'Snape is right. Let Lemmy put you to bed.'

Narcissa looked ready to argue when the snake reached with her tail and coiled the woman's wrist. Nagini tugged a little, and Narcissa nodded, following silently.

'You've bought Nagini, I see, Bellatrix.'

'I've promised her a goat every time she makes Cissy do what's best for herself.'

'And you, no doubt, are the judge of that?'

'You've not got a younger sibling, Snape, you wouldn't understand.'

'No.'

The two stared at one another a moment. Snape finally reached into his waistcoat and handed over the small card case the girl had made him years earlier. Bellatrix held it in her hand, saying nothing, doing nothing. Several black hairs were tucked into the phial hidden inside, enough for their plan. More than enough, ideally, because to risk plucking more from the Dark Lord's head was unthinkable.

'This plan is insane.'

'Of course it is.'

'I thought we'd all be dead by now.'

'We should be so lucky.'

She laughed, shaking her head. 'You never stop, do you?'

'If I did, I would not be me.'

'True enough.'

She handed back the case and then sighed deeply, hands limp on her knees. Snape remembered being sixteen and the terrible, wonderful shock of her nakedness, the milk of her flesh and the darkness of the triangle of hair between her thighs.

'When do we move?'

'Soon.'

He felt no especial urge to indulge her, even if he had to admit she'd been splendid the night before, going to the Dark Lord, resting her head on his shoe as of old, debasing herself long enough for Snape to carefully drug his pumpkin juice. A small phial of strong sedative, well stirred, had left him snoring long enough for Snape to send Mippy to find what they were after. He'd counselled Albus not to give Potter the cloak; thank God Albus had ignored him.

Then Bellatrix had calmly reset the little monster's mind, and they'd left without another word, all memory of the cloak gone from the Dark Lord, the residue of Potter's thoughts wiped clean on the topic, and the hairs for the next part of the plan in Snape's pocket.

'No one will find it in his system?'

Snape smiled his tight, weird smile. 'I've a degree of skill at potions, Bellatrix, if you'll recall.'

'Shame it isn't social interactions.'

'You're one to talk.'

'I'm a woman, most of them are too busy trying to stare down my bodice to care what actually comes from my mouth.'

Snape laughed, surprising even himself. 'I'm sure being a wealthy, beautiful Pureblood is an awful trial to you, madam.'

'Never said it was.'

'True.'

They were both lost in their thoughts for some time. Then Bellatrix seemed to come back and gave him a look. 'Snape?'

'Bellatrix?'

'I never did thank you.'

'For?'

'All of it.'

She seemed disinclined to elaborate, so Snape nodded curtly, once, and would have been content to let things go. Any sort of thanks from Bellatrix was like seeing a black swan, anyhow. She was studying him, head tilted like the idiot dog was prone to do.

'Why?'

'Why, what, Bellatrix?'

'We were nothing to you.'

Snape hadn't expected it. It was hard to chart the labyrinthine folds and curves of Bellatrix's mind. She was waiting, head still tipped. Did the girl do that sometimes? Snape seemed to recall that she did.

'It seemed fitting to me.'

'Fitting?'

'Fitting.'

She snorted. 'That's not an answer, Snape.'

Snape said nothing. She looked him directly in the eye and then, strangely, her lips curved a bit. Smiling. Bellatrix was smiling at him. Snape's hand flew to his wand, muscles tensing as he prepared to hex and run whilst shielding himself as best he could.

'If you don't want to tell me...'

'I don't.'

'Fine, fine, but you get to explain to the girl why I was forced to torture it out of you.'

Anyone else would have soiled themselves in blind panic, but Snape understood this to be a sort of joke and nodded once, acknowledging receipt of Bellatrix's terrifying levity.

'I daresay I would not need to. She is quite like you in some ways.'

Bellatrix stopped smiling. 'You think she has it, then?'

'I do. Black tells me she's having trouble with the Patronus charm.'

Bellatrix's already pale face lost a full shade. 'You don't think she's been...?'

'Not currently.'

'But the ability is there.'

'And getting stronger. I would address it with her, but perhaps it would serve her better from yourself and Rodolphus.'

Bellatrix nodded. All her light manner had vanished, leaving her looking beautiful, still, but damanged too, like a flower crushed under a heel. She pursed her lips briefly and then spoke.

'We were talking about this, he and I. Rodolphus. He asked me whether I'd have gone that night, knowing she was inside me.'

'What did you say?'

'I would have. And it's true. Now she...I don't want my daughter to live my life, Snape.'

Snape wondered if he was actually dead, and this was Hell, some muggle Hell where he had to listen to Bellatrix's feelings for all eternity. Wizarding Hell sounded a good alternative, at the moment.

'We are taking steps to assure that doesn't happen, Bellatrix. The fact remains that the girl is your daughter, and has likely inherited your proclivities.'

Bellatrix swallowed. 'I hope she has better judgement than I.'

'I said your proclivities, not your flaws.'

'No, she's learnt those from you. And I suppose Rodolphus played some role. Perhaps. Still doesn't answer my question, does it?'

'What will, Bellatrix?'

She shrugged a bit. 'You tell me.'

'There's nothing to tell.'

'Bollocks. Rodolphus, you know, thinks this is some sort of frustrated paternal feeling on your part.'

'Does he?'

'I don't. Well, perhaps it is, but that's not the end of it.'

'What is, then? Please, explain my motives to me, your insights are fascinating.'

She ignored his jabs completely. 'You wanted someone to pass it on to. All these things you do, you knew she'd excel at them, and you wanted to teach her.'

' A teacher who enjoys teachings? Oh, how original. I would never have guessed that. It's certainly never been suggested as a motive before, has it?'

'Am I wrong?'

Snape rose and bowed. 'Thank you for your help, Bellatrix. I will be in touch. Should you see Black before I do, please send him my most sincere abuse.'

'You great pillocky arse.'

'Good day, Bellatrix.' Snape stepped into the Floo and was gone, back to Spinner's End.

In Bulgaria, Draco was drinking a goblet of cold white wine. He set it down, head ringing with exhaustion. He hadn't had more than a hour's sleep or been able to eat for over twelve hours, and he was in pain. It was a constant burning which sometimes spiked into a terrible scorching heat, and it would not go away for a long time.

Well, nothing for it. He forced himself to look alert and reached into his small bundle.

'I've things for you.'

The first thing was the small parcel of socks that Dobby had packed him. He reached into the toe of one and pulled something out. Draco swished, and the little scrap from his sock expanded into a voluminous cloak, patched and ragged and threadbare.

Hermione sat down hard, eyes wet, hand at her throat. 'Harry's cloak.'

'Yes. Yes, they got it from...Hogwarts.'

Draco flushed, wondering if he oughtn't to have warned his cousin somehow. He'd thought perhaps the pain had dulled for her. He took the cloak and laid it down on the desk.

'And something—rather, someone—else.'

Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny box, cunning constructed of ebony. He thumbed a hidden catch and it expanded to five times its size.

He opened the lid, and a tiny bug flew out and then melted into the form of Rita Skeeter. She curtsied, fixing her hair as she did.

'Hello, all. It's so good to be here.'

'It's good to see you, madam. Please, sit down.'

Hermione had recovered herself enough to smile and say the right things, but only just, he could see from the way she moved.

'I've some documents, and pictures and things. I can't stay long, but perhaps it's a start?'

'We appreciate anything you might give us. I'm sure you might like to eat and sleep.'

The Skeeter woman nodded a little jerkily. Draco had the idea that she was afraid of them. That was fine by Draco.

That was the cue for an elf to lead her out, and then it was just the three, and Sirius. They faced one another in silence until Sirius said hoarsely 'James' cloak. May I see it?'

'James?'

Sirius didn't answer. He took it off the desk and smoothed the worn nap with his fingers, eyes swimming. It was like watching some hideously personal act.

Draco had never had a woman, but he sometimes thought that nothing could be deeper or more intimate than that act seemed, except perhaps the act of memory. This was one of those times. He could not have been intruding more had he walked in on Sirius and the wife his cousin didn't have.

Hermione, too, was far from them. Tears were running down her face, and she didn't wipe them away. She finally rose and went to Sirius and they embraced, lost in the past that only they shared. Viktor had turned his head away, lips white, pressed together as though he, too, could feel the secretness of this, and the blasphemy it would be to intervene. Sirius finally spoke, sniffling a bit.

'Do you know what it is, Viktor?'

'No, cousin. Tell me, please.'

'It's an Invisibility cloak. It belonged to a friend of mine when we were young.'

'A friend? I thought it was Harry's father's.'

'Harry's father James, yes.'

Hermione reached into a pocket and came up with nothing. 'I let Zenobia have mine if she'd stop crying.'

Viktor handed her his and she wiped her eyes, and offered it to Sirus. He dried his too, and then set the cloak down carefully. 'I've made some very bad choices in my life, but James Potter's friendship was not one of them. And if the son was anything like his father, he would want us to use this to end this whole fucked up mess. Sorry, darling.'

'No. No, you're right. Harry would want us—does want us—to stop this. He didn't like bullies. He didn't like seeing people hurt.'

Sirius squeezed her shoulder. 'Did Snape send anything else?'

'She's got documents. The Skeeter woman. And pictures. Loads of pictures.'

'Pictures?'

'To show the Ministers. They're...really awful, actually. That attack on those muggles.' Draco forced the sandpaper in his throat to flex and tried to shut out what he'd seen. He'd just looked at a few pictures, but that had been more than enough for his tastes. His eyes drifted shut and he forced them open, seeing a melange of images from the packet Madam Skeeter had in her purse.

Viktor was nodding, fingers massaging his temples. 'It's a start, Drago. Thank you, and thank God you've come home.'

Draco embraced him. Home, he thought, and knew that it was true. And then he pushed the thought away, pleasant though it was. He stepped back and unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt.

'There's something else.'

'What it is?'

Hermione knew. Her eyes widened, and filled again. 'Draco, no.'

'I didn't-I'm sorry. I'm sorry.'

He rolled up his sleeve and showed them the Mark, flesh surrounded it springy and raw. It was very dark against his skin, and the red of the wound. Then they were all embracing, and Draco could feel their love for him and one another, and their hardness.

Love and anger, peace and war, following one another, all of it coming together and waiting for them, coming for them like winter.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**Sorry about the formatting, gang, I don't know how to fix it.**

**I love Kreacher and Sirius in this one :)**

Anu could tell something had changed the second the class was over. He rose, bowed to Professor Slughorn and departed directly behind Uncle Penko, shooing one of the young Vidanovs out the door with gentle pressure to be sure they weren't alone with Slughorn.

Although he did not know that what it was called, Anu felt as though he stood on the edge of a seminal moment. He'd felt this way preparing to fight the wolves who'd come to his village like a disease, back in 1992. He'd felt this way when he'd grabbed the edge of Vata's cloak and been Portkeyed to Skopje, dodging the cuffs and swearwords the older boy sent his way trying to dislodge him. He'd felt that way stepping into the tent where he'd lost his eye; it was a feeling both hot and cold, dancing on the blade of a knife, the world singing around one of currents that no human could see.

He was mindful of the feeling as he walked with the others, glaring at the son of lord Popov as he jostled a younger child and stopping to swing Zenobia up on his hip. She giggled and snuggled into his neck. It was her nap time, he knew, and called for her elf so she could go sleep a little. Zenobia waved cheerfully and followed Chorba, too sleepy even to talk very much.

Something nudged his thigh. He looked down to see Sirius-Salazar staring up at him, and then gently grasping his arm and tugged. Anu nodded, following, Goose and Lady joining them. Snatchers waved as he passed, and he heard more than one startled visitor whispered a bit too loud 'The One-eye!' He also heard a few people call him 'Wolfhunter' too, so he didn't mind much. He supposed there were worse things a fellow could be called, and anyway, he was a one-eye, so what did it matter?

Sirius was loping easily along, quickly but not too much so, and Anu, curious as he was, forced himself to act like he was just going to play with the dogs. Goose and Lady both seemed to sense the strange feeling, as he did. Goose flanked him, sometimes whining a little to show he didn't like this excitement in his otherwise orderly and calm life.

They were heading for the private quarters. Had something happened to someone? Anu picked up his own pace a bit now that the public couldn't see him. He was almost trotting when they finally came to the right door, and Sirius-Salazar bounded inside and changed back. Goose barked once, apparently still startled by the whole thing, and then sat down, shaking his shaggy head as though experiencing bewilderment that his peaceful afternoon was suddenly not.

'Cousin?'

'Anu, Draco is here. He's had rather a hard time of it lately.'

'Is he hurt?'

'No. Not hurt, but no one must know that he's here. He's going home with you, all right?'

Anu nodded. Of course it was all right. He'd missed having another person more his age to spend time with, and worried terribly about Draco, so this was the best of both worlds.

'What about Barty?'

'He's coming back here, at least to start with.'

'Are you coming as well?'

'I am. Here they are.' He changed back, and a minute or so later the group indeed entered. Anu grinned, excited to see his friend and brother and idol, and his cousins, and everyone else.

Anu embraced them all, giving them the traditional kisses on the cheek. Drago had been sort of uncomfortable with that initially, but he seemed all right with it now. He hugged Anu rather harder than usual, and Anu thought he was thinner than before, quite a bit thinner. He had circles under his eyes.

'Ready, Anu?'

Anu nodded, and the two of them stepped through the Floo, followed by Sirius-Salazar. Nene was waiting for them, twisting her apron in her fingers. Yana was there too, and ran to Anu for a hug before she tackled Drago, overcome with excitement. He lifted her up and kissed her cheeks and then set her down.

'She did it! Aunt Zhivka did it!'

'Did what, Yana?'

'She brought you home! I asked her to ask the Theotokos and she did!' Yana was nearly in tears of joy. She turned and ran for the chapel, shouting she was going to tell the priest and light a candle in thanks.

Nene hung back as Anu warded the door and Sirius stood up. He stayed carefully next to Drago, never looking directly at Nene, making no sudden moves. Anu liked that. He thought Nene liked it too, because she smiled a little as she came to kiss Draco's brow and scold him for having lost weight.

'Not that I blame you. Are they all right? Your parents?'

Drago shook his head. 'I don't think so. It's a struggle. I've got letters and things from them all. How have you been?'

'Can't complain. Anu's been tending our flock. The grass here is good.'

Sirius cleared his throat. 'Would it be all right if Anu and I took a walk, Madam Tamm? My elf Kreacher would be happy to go with us. Or stay here, if you'd rather.'

Nene was a little pale but otherwise quite normal. 'Please, sir.'

'Anu, are you up for it?'

Anu stood and followed. If there was anyone he trusted with Nene, it was Drago. Or Viktor, he knew they'd take care of her. She liked them both, which was good, and Nene was eyeing Drago in a speculative way that meant she was going to dose him with tonic. Anu wanted to be out of range if that happened, so he walked after Sirius, not quite sure what to make of this.

'Sirius?'

'It's all right, kid. Just wanted to see how you're doing with this.'

Anu considered. 'It's not so bad. Glad Drago's here and not there, though.'

'Me, too. He's a tough bloke, but still, this whole thing is a disaster.'

'I think so. Sirius?'

'Hmmm?'

They'd gone toward the family quarters in the keep. Sirius, apparently hearing footsteps, changed into Salazar, and Anu waved as the wolf came into view. 'Hello, Sandru.'

'Mr. Tamm. Everything all right?'

'Nene's working on something and doesn't want to be disturbed. Would you ask the others, please?'

'Of course.' Sandru gave him a piercing look. 'If something were wrong, would you say?'

Anu nodded. It was sort of weird sometimes, having so many adults about him who worried and scolded, but it felt good, too. Sandru was a wolf, but he'd been married, and had a son back in Romania. It was charitable not to mind too much, wasn't it?

'I would. Just a headache.'

'And no one's bothered your lady mother recently?'

'No. She wants some time to think.'

Sandru nodded. 'I'll let the boys know. She's got her elf, though?'

'She does.'

'If you aren't better by tonight, let me know and I'll summon Yokov.'

'All right. Thank you, Sandru.'

Anu led Salazar (Goose stayed with Nene and Drago, which was good, because Anu worried about the Floo) to his chamber and closed the door. It was weird, having a whole room just for himself. It was nice in theory, but in practice, it seemed a little cold to him, and sort of strange. It was better, Anu felt, to share with others, to have someone to protect you as you slept, and someone to protect in turn.

Sirius stood up as soon as the door was closed. 'Well done, kid.'

'Thank you.' Anu hopped up on the bed and so did Sirius, stretching his shoulder and muttering about it.

'Sirius?'

'Hmm?'

'Why does anyone want to serve the Dark Lord? He's a monster.'

'Yeah, kid, he is.'

'He's got no_ besa_.'

'Honour?'

The word didn't quite fit but Anu understood it was as close as Sirius could come. He wondered why people as smart as his English family had ever thought this was a good idea. Sirius was looking thoughtful, hands folded.

'No. He's a bastard through and through.'

'So am I.'

'Different thing entirely. And anyway, so what? Everyone knows your mother is a good woman, and that you're her son.'

'True. I hex people who insult her, you know.'

'Good, you ought to. It's a low man who mocks someone's mother.'

'I think so too. That's not an answer, though.'

Sirius snapped his fingers. 'Thought I'd distracted you. I honestly don't have one.'

'All of you are better than that.'

'I suppose...if you thought someone was coming to hurt your family, Anu, how far would you go to stop them?'

'I'd do anything.'

Sirius nodded. 'So would they. People thought the Dark Lord had the right of things, and by the time they realised he didn't, it was years too late.'

'Is that why they all know so much Dark magic? He made them learn it?'

'No. Some people have a sort of compulsion. Like some people are incipient alcoholics.'

'Inciepient?'

'Some people are born with a tendency toward alcoholism. Some people are born with a tendency toward Dark magic.'

Anu nodded slowly. 'Oh. Does that mean Hermione's got it?'

'I hope not.'

'Me, too. Aunt Trixie and Uncle Rodolphus are very good at it, though. Aunt Trixie was explaining to us about it one day.'

'What did she tell you?'

'She said sometimes it's necessary but not to play with it.'

Sirius nodded. 'Bellatrix is probably the most powerful witch in Britain. And I think Hermione might be just as strong.'

'Doesn't surprise me. She's smart.'

'Yes, she is.'

'I saw the firestorm, you know. It looked like a flower from above.'

'Must've been scary, on those ships.'

Anu shook his head. 'Drago and Viktor said I'd be safe, and so did Professor Snape.'

'You've got enormous faith in him, don't you? All of them, really.'

'Yes. They don't lie.'

'No. Snape is not the most personable fellow, but I know he appreciates your company, Anu.'

'He does?'

'Snape didn't have the happiest life. It's good for him to have someone to spend time with.'

'Was his father a man with no _besa_?'

Why were so many men bad? It really bothered Anu. Uncle Lucius and Uncle Rodolphus were good men, and so were Uncle Rabastan, and Uncle Rumen and Uncle Penko. Why couldn't more men be kind and gentle and not hurt people?

'I wouldn't ask him, Anu, but yes, I would think.'

'Why are so many men like that?'

'Bad?'

'Yes. A lot of them are.'

'A lot of women are bad too.'

'You don't hear about them as much.'

Sirius laughed softly. 'That's true.'

Anu nodded. 'That still isn't an answer.'

'It's a hard question.'

'Everyone says that.'

Sirius nodded to the elf, who'd discreetly appeared with a plate of snacks and ayran for them both.

'Part of it is that it's Draco's story to tell. You heard about Hetty and Draco's orders?'

Anu nodded. 'He's supposed to assassinate Wesley.'

'Weasley, Arthur Weasley. We don't want that to happen.'

'I know. So what happens now?'

'We're not quite sure. Sort of a day at a time, you know?'

Anu understood that. 'Is he all right, though?'

Sirius looked at his ayran. 'I hope he is.'

'He'd better be. Nene'll make him take tonic if he isn't.'

'Is it that bad?'

'Worse.'

Sirius grinned and then sobered. 'So how **are** you doing with all this, kid? That was pretty bad, in England.'

'Most of it wasn't too bad. The Dementors were, but other than that, it wasn't terrible.' At the time. Once they'd come home things had got terrible quickly.

'What's your definition of terrible, then?'

Anu drank some yoghurt. 'When I was ten the wolves came to my village. It was winter, right before Byram. We heard them coming. People from the village closest ours had told they were coming. We were waiting for them.'

Sirius said nothing. He smiled just a little, and Anu, taking this as consent, pushed on. He found it wasn't hard to talk to Sirius about the things he'd seen and done during that endless night. Sirius understood hard things, having done lots of them himself from what Anu could tell.

'We could hear them screaming. The women. They'd hidden but the wolves found them. It was...'

'Do you want to stop, kid?'

'No.'

'All right.'

Anu sat up straighter and wrapped his arms about his knees, resting his head on his knee-cap. 'Aren't I supposed to be upset about this?'

'Are you?'

'Drago has nightmares.'

'Sometimes.'

Anu reached under his eye patch and scratched absently at the lid, which sometimes itched a bit, despite having no actual eye. 'I don't.'

'No?'

'Not often, anyway.'

Sirius nodded. 'That's all right.'

'It's not weird?'

'We all deal with this shite—err, stuff differently, kid. Why do you think Kreacher is such a manky little plonker?'

Anu burst out laughing. 'Sirius!'

'Well, he is.'

The elf of the hour appeared, glowering. 'Master Sirius! Teaching Master Anu naughty words! Insulting Kreacher! Kreacher will tell Mistress, oh yes!'

'You love it, Kreacher.'

'Kreacher does not! Kreacher loves nice words and calm!'

'And me.'

'And Master Sirius, yes. When Master Sirius is acting like Kreacher taught him.'

Sirius dropped his voice. 'He's faking, you know.'

'Kreacher never fakes!'

'Spare me, you've been pretending to have a bad heart for how long?'

Kreacher yelped with indignation. 'Pretending! Kreacher is living to serve the House of Black!'

'And most ably. Annoyingly, but ably. We both know you're healthier than all of us put together.'

'Kreacher is old! And tired!'

'Never said you weren't.'

'Master Sirius!'

'Kreacher!'

Anu couldn't keep a straight face anymore. He started to giggle, and Sirius laughed as well. Even Kreacher stopped glaring long enough to have a suspicious fit of coughs before he resumed his prior glare.

'Hmmph, picking on Kreacher.'

'It keeps you young.'

Kreacher shook his head. 'Babies, Master Sirius. Babies will keep Kreacher young.'

'What if we got you a puppy?'

Kreacher looked so outraged that Anu laughed harder as the next round commenced.

At the Ministry, nobody was laughing. At least, that was Barty's perception as he handed Edric to Zdratza and followed Rumen to the office. He frowned, brow furrowing. He shoved a hand through his hair and closed the door carefully behind himself.

'Hermione? Viktor? What's the matter?'

His first thought was for Rab and Gennie, but also Madam Cunegarde and Madam Elisaveta, who were both old and sick. But neither of the children—well, young people—looked sad, so much as nervous. Barty embraced them both and then stepped back, waiting for someone to speak.

'Barty, how do you feel about the Dark Lord?'

'The Dark Lord? I'm angry at him. Why?'

'Angry why?'

'He sent Edric away. Not that we're not glad to be here—Edric and me—but it's not right. He should be with his parents.' And they should all be here. England had gone sour. He didn't know better how to explain it than that.

They nodded. 'If we asked you to take a Wizard's Oath, would you?'

'Does it count if my mind isn't right?'

'Yes. Your magic is intact, Barty.'

'I know. What about?'

'Will you take the oath?'

'Yes.'

He let Viktor swear him after an elf brought his wand. He hadn't held it in a long time. He swished, smiling at the feel. His magic spilt out and wound with Viktor's binding them to silence.

'The Dark Lord has done a very bad thing, Barty.'

'More Dementors?'

The windows were open, and that made Barty nervous. He swished, closing them, and then handed his wand back to Niska before he was asked. He didn't like giving it up but Rab said it was safer. He understood; he had burst of accidental magic now and then, was all.

'No. He wants Draco to hurt someone. Arthur Weasley?'

'I remember him.'

'He wants Draco to kill him.'

'What? No, no, that's not right. Do Lucius and Narcissa know?'

'They do. Draco is here now, in Bulgaria. We need to hide him, so he's staying at Castle Borev for right now. We'll need your help.'

'Help how?'

'A lot of people are going to be watching us, and some of them will be spies. If you see something that doesn't seem right, will you tell us?'

'Of course. The Dark Lord's spies, you mean?'

'Some of them. Some of them will work for other countries who might want to hurt us.'

Barty nodded slowly. 'The Dark Lord is doing this because He's angry at us.'

'Yes.'

Hermione's hand was shaking so hard her nails looked like streaks. He gently took it, stilling it a moment.

'It will be all right, Hermione, I promise. We'll fix this.'

'I know.'

'Are you going to write home soon?'

'Yes, probably.'

'Tell your uncle I said to remember his promise. Do you swear? Remind him.'

He looked disapprovingly at her hand. 'When did you take your potions last, again?'

'This morning.'

'Hermione.'

Viktor, Barty saw, was grinning at her. She made a face but obediently called for them and took them. He nodded approval and then asked Winky to please bring his things.

'Are you ready?'

'I am.' So he stepped through the Floo, bowed to Sose, inquired after the herd and went to do his sworn duty.

Draco looked terrible. His colour was off, and he seemed restless. Barty could see him fiddling with his the sleeve of his tunic as he came in. The two embraced, and Barty stepped back and looked his almost-nephew up and down.

'You've lost weight.'

'A touch.'

'No, more than that.'

Draco dropped his head, hand still on his arm. Barty suddenly suspected something, and hoped it was not true. He thought it was, but he wanted it not to be.

'Have you got a Mark now, Draco?'

Draco finally met his eyes. Barty knew, and embraced him again, saying nothing. It was wrong, he thought angrily, wrong, wrong, wrong. He'd been an adult, at least. And Draco wasn't well. Everyone knew that. His mind was hurt too, not broken but definitely hurt. It made him angrier. Not at Draco, so he tried to make sure he kept his voice smooth and soft, like Sev would, or Lucius.

'It's all right, Draco. It's His fault, not yours.'

Draco nodded. Barty gently released him and briskly stepped back. He could do only so much, but what he could do, he would. Barty had once done a Bad Thing, and he didn't mean for Draco to be forced into something as Bad, even if he had to find a way to fix it himself. Well, or ask Sev. Possibly a combination of those, which struck him as prudent.

'When did you eat last?'

'Not long ago. Really, I'm all right.'

'You aren't.'

'Barty.'

'No. Where's Anu?'

'In his rooms, I think.'

'Let's go visit him.'

Anu was indeed in his room, and the three of them had a quick, happy reunion before they settled down to business. Salazar was there—quite a nice surprise—and Barty handed Draco the note Hermione had sent with him. Draco nodded without comment and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

There was a noise outside, a loud one, shouting and elves. Draco and Anu both drew, faces tense. Barty stood between them and the door, prepared to go toe to toe with whatever came in.

It turned out to be Yana, still over the moon, who ran in, pounced Draco and announced between hugs that the big ram with the broken horn had got out of his pen and was chasing the gardener elf.

Anu huffed. 'That goat is terrible. When we go to market, I think we need to sell the thing and have done with it.' He donned his boots and, Yana in tow, went to prevail on Sose to get rid of the goat once and for all.

That left Draco and Barty. 'Draco?'

'Yes, Barty?'

'You should lie down, all right?'

Draco shook his head. 'No, no, I'm all right.'

Something Winky used to say popped into Barty's head. 'Five minutes, then.'

'Five minutes of what?'

'Lie down for five minutes. If you still aren't tired, get up, all right?'

Draco sighed. 'Barty...'

'Just five minutes. I'll be here too. Don't like being alone in this place. Poor Grigor Borev died here.' The last thing was true, but the rest was a bit of a fib. Barty murmured a quick prayer in his mind, telling his mother he thought this wasn't quite as bad because Draco was going to give himself a migraine otherwise.

Draco nodded. 'Five minutes, then.'

Barty laid down as well. Draco spent a few moments squirming to get comfortable, favouring his arm. It hurt, the Mark did, and for a long time. He'd ask Winky to get something from Sev.

Draco was looking at him. Barty tugged the covers up. 'Everything all right?'

'No.'

'Tell me, Draco.'

'I'm afraid.'

Barty reached up to touch his forehead lightly, like he was testing for a fever. 'Sev and Rab and all the others are working to fix this. Just close your eyes.'

'I should be able to sleep by myself.'

'Lots of people can't.'

Draco nodded. 'Thank you, Barty.'

'Welcome. Now shhhh.'

When Sirius and Anu came back, Draco was soundly asleep, arm stretched out beside him. Anu carefully climbed in on his other side, guarding the older boy's back, and Salazar jumped lightly onto the foot of the bed, sighing deeply.

Anu cast a quick bubble so Draco wouldn't wake. 'Viktor and Hermione and the uncles are coming.'

'When?'

'Couple hours.'

Barty nodded. 'We should all take a rest.'

Anu laid down, and Barty, feeling like he'd done admirably in keeping his oath, at least for the day, shut his eyes and concentrated on how he could help fix this whole awful situation.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**NB I: A character describes a list of countries as being 'most of the Balkans.' About half the countries are Balkan-the character just means that their priority is the Balkan countries.**

**NB II: Mellitus is the old name for diabetes. It runs in the Krum family. **

**NB III: Penko's title is Lord Paramount of the Conclave, so he's called 'Lord Krum' as a courtesy. Viktor is typically called 'Lord Protector', so there's not much confusion.**

Rumen Krum wondered what the high lords and vassals of their country would say if they could see the Lord Protector now. In a sun-faded, patched tunic, he was squatting on his heels, gently wiping the face of the squirming Toma Kounev, who was six, with a damp cloth. Toma had bad allergies, and the cloth was impregnated with a salve that would mitigate the swelling that the presence of flowers and trees would otherwise cause.

When the medication was absorbed, Viktor clapped his shoulder, and the child, son of the rebel lord who'd help the Dinevs defend their castle, beamed up at him, awestruck at the presence of this big boy, who was so nice and whom everyone deferred to.

'Thank you.'

'You're welcome, Toma. Run and play, all right?'

Rumen caught his nephew's eye as he rose. 'My lord, good news.'

'We've found a way to stop the Romanian ambassador coming about.'

'I said good news, Viktor, not a miracle.'

They both grinned a moment before Hermione came over, holding two year old Rada Popova on her hip. Rada was clutching a doll even mankier than Anka, and held it out to Rumen.

'Baby! Baby! Rada baby!'

'Yes, love, that is your baby.' He took the doll, grimacing slightly, and patted it's back like he would an infant before he handed it back. Rada giggled and gave Hermione a sticky little kiss on the cheek before wriggling to get down. She ambled off on sturdy little legs and Edric crowed with delight, waddling to meet her.

'They're certainly taken with one another.'

'Edric is a favourite here, to be sure.' The two little ones were steadying each other, Edric gently tugging one of Rada's little nubby braids, as she, in turn, was poking him in the nose, both of them laughing uproariously.

'The Popovs wouldn't refuse an alliance, Viktor.'

'I'd want Uncle Rab and Aunt Gennie to meet them first. And the children are awfully young, Uncle. Suppose they dislike one another when they're older?'

'If we raised Rada to it, that wouldn't happen.'

'It would be a lot for Aunt Lyudmilla and Aunt Sose, two babies to care for.'

Rumen nodded. 'It wouldn't have to be Rada, of course. Alina Paisi is adorable, and so is that little red-haired granddaughter of Vidanov's. I just want to make sure Edric's future is set.'

Viktor and Hermione were nodding. 'So do we, Uncle, but it might be wise for us to get a better idea what that future might look like first.' Hermione was wearing her bezoar bracelet, and turned it on her wrist a little as she talked, indicating she felt a bit on edge about the subject.

Rumen understood, of course. It was very possible, should the Dark Lord be toppled, that Edric, Barty and the others would return to England. Hermione would stay in Sofia, of course, but the other two, and Drago, could go home.

Secretly, he hoped they would not. At a purely personal level, he wanted them to stay here, where he knew it was safe. Edric could have a perfectly happy life, attending Durmstrang, marrying a girl of good family and ending as one of Viktor's lieutenants. He might even get a lordship, should he marry well .

And Barty, too, might be better off. He'd have an honoured place here, dogs and friends and the child that he'd never have to give him grandchildren in the fullness of time. The Lestranges loved Barty, and Edric, to a certainty, but had they not made their choices long ago? Shouldn't it be about what was best for the ones who had no choices?

Drago, now, did have a choice. If Rumen had dared to, he'd have sat the lad down and explained clearly that Bulgaria was a good place for him. He, too, would have an honoured place, an **important **place at Viktor's side, and his Estonian could give him strong children, children who could be Bulgarians if only Drago would say the word.

Not that he'd do that, ultimately. Rumen cared about them all but it was not his place to interfere, so having made himself known, he subsided, watching as dozens of the most well-born children in Bulgaria played in the big courtyard, throwing balls, chasing one another, dancing or just sitting under the small trees and chatting with friends.

'It was a good idea, Hermione, bringing them here.'

Hermione smiled her thanks and waved as Yana and Zenobia wandered over. As her future sister in law, it was only right that Yana had taken special interest in the younger girl. Zenobia ran for Viktor, giggling, and was immediately lifted and tossed like she weighed no more than a feather. She shrieked with glee.

Yana saw her father's look and gently shooed her sister in law to be away. 'Later' said Rumen, and the two went to find a ball. He watched them go, two of the most valuable heiresses in all of Europe.

'What was your news, Uncle?'

Rumen cast a Silencing bubble about them. Anu had just come in, and was being mobbed by excited children. Barty was with him, and he, too, was being hugged and cheered from all quarters.

'Albania, Estonia, Croatia, Bosnia, Latvia, Lithuania, Macedonia, Turkey, Greece, and Serbia have all agreed to come.'

Both children-no, Rumen scolded himself, they are your lawful rulers now-looked relieved. 'So most of the Balkan states will come?'

'There's more. Norway, Poland, Sweden and Finland have asked to come. France and Germany have implied they'd like to send people. And Egypt is interested.'

'Egypt?'

'Penko's talking to their Minister as we speak. I think they'll come.'

Now they both looked shocked. 'That many?'

'For a start.'

Viktor nodded, eyes closing a second. 'We've enough to tell them, certainly.'

'There's the rub, my lord. There will be questions about the fact you didn't raise the alarm right away.'

'Despite being in hostile territory at the time, and afraid for our family?'

Hermione nodded at once. 'Besides which, we needed time to figure out our next move. We had no reason to believe he would move immediately once the assassination failed.'

'True enough.'

Rumen fought the urge to crack his knuckles, which would be a very bad example to the young people, all of them. Bess had wandered over, and now she rested her head on Viktor's leg and whined softly.

'I know, girl. We'll figure it out.'

'Where shall we keep them?'

'The Ministers? Good question, love.' Rumen nodded his approval of Hermione and turned his mind to this current issue.

'They all need to be alike in dignity. Family properties, in other words.'

'The rose valley is pretty this time of year.'

'It might seem a slight to house some of them here and some in a rural area.'

'Castle Krum can host quite a few of them.'

'Our closest allies, yes. I'd rather have the ones we don't know a bit less centrally located, Uncle.' Hermione drew her eyebrows together to emphasise her feelings about strangers sleeping in their beds and wandering their corridors.

Viktor was frowning. 'Castle Borev is right out. Aunt Sose would never feel safe knowing there were strange men inside the walls.'

'What about Barty?'

'Barty?'

Both men looked at her. Hermione nodded thoughtfully, gnawing her lip.

'We can't have him here, because...here is not an option. He could stay at Castle Borev with Aunt Sose. She's not scared of him, and he's a kinsman through Anu's relationship to Yana.'

'It's a betrothal, not a marriage, though.'

'Barty is a member of my uncle's immediate family. That makes him suitable, as does his mental age, Uncle.'

Her voice was totally flat. Rumen suspected it was not at him, exactly, so much as refusing to allow debate about Barty's status as a member of her-their-family.

'Would you talk to Sose about it? If she agrees, then I think it a very appropriate solution.'

'Not to mention' said Viktor delicately 'Salazar is there as additional protection. And the wolves.'

'So the most important here in Sofia, some at Castle Krum and the rest at Castle Borev.'

Viktor nodded Bulgarian style. 'We'll have to divide them based on national, ah, preferences. We can't have the Croats and the Estonians in proximity, for example.'

'Exactly. It might be nice if we asked the aides and things to help us host their own people. The Kasks with the Estonians and so forth.'

Rumen touched her arm lightly in approval. 'That's a good plan. What about the children?' He gestured to the mass of happy children making loud and joyful noise as they played in the warm sun.

Viktor and Hermione both smiled a little. 'It might be a nice gesture to have them here to meet everyone, initially.'

'Show them the new Bulgaria, nephew?'

'Show them we're not just an army of wolves, Uncle. We can be very good allies in every sense.'

'You'd welcome foreign children here?'

Hermione looked at her husband, whose mouth quirked; this was her project.

'Uncle, we'd welcome nearly anyone here.'

Rumen wasn't surprised. Not wholly sure he approved, but not surprised. And honestly, he didn't disapprove nearly as much as he might have. His nephew and niece had good instincts, and very large hearts.

'Once things have settled down' said Viktor casually 'I'd like to invite others to send their children here.'

'Others?'

'The children of headsmen, the wolves, once they start to marry.'

Rumen was silent a full moment. 'You'd invite the children of wolves here?'

'I'd invite Bulgarians, and our allies.'

Hermione leant up and pecked Rumen's cheek. 'It will be fun, Uncle.'

'Fun' said Rumen, a little dazed, and rose bowing. 'I'm going to check on Penko.'

They collapsed the bubble, and as he watched, the Lord Protector of Bulgaria and his Vicereine, both in old clothes, went back into the fray to see to their little not-quite-hostages.

Penko was in the office. He was holding a sheath of letters, and his face was tight. Rumen was a totally different person than Penko, and they didn't always get along, but he didn't think about that for a second. What he thought was 'baby brother in trouble' and went into that gear, immediately rounding the desk.

'Penko, my God, are you ill? It's mellitus, isn't it? I warned you not to eat so many sweets, don't you remember how ill Mother was the last few years of her life? And furthermore-Penko?'

Penko was shaking his head, smiling a bit. 'No, no, I'm healthy as an ox. I just, ah, missed someone a minute.'

'Rabastan, you mean.'

'What gave you that impression?'

Rumen gave his brother a gimletty look of annoyance. 'Penko, please. I know you.'

Penko nodded tiredly. 'Yes. Yes, I miss Rab.'

'That's normal. I missed Lyudmilla very much back in December.'

'Really? I always rather had the impression that your marriage was...not sentimental.'

Ordinarily Rumen would have been offended, but at the moment he didn't mind. Perhaps it was time to get to know his brother a little as adults.

'It wasn't, and isn't. But we still care about one another. I felt guilty leaving her in England.'

'That alliance was...'

'Yes. But we did get Hermione out of it.'

'She's done well for Viktor.'

'He for her, as well.'

Penko looked curious. 'How long have you known about Rabastan and me?'

'Quite a while. December confirmed it.'

'I was afraid it might jeopardize his place if people knew.'

'Does Eugenia know?'

'She does. She's a lover as well.'

'Hetty?'

'Sirius.'

Rumen raised a brow. 'This is a confusing family tree we're drawing, isn't it?'

'It's going to get worse before it gets better.'

They both laughed a little. Then Rumen said as delicately as he could 'You didn't mention it because he's married?'

'I wanted to protect the family in case the Dark Lord...I don't know. We didn't want to shame Eugenia, was some of it.'

'She seems very nice.'

'She is. She didn't have a choice any more than Rab did.'

Rumen shook his head. 'It must soothe them knowing you've got Edric and Barty.'

'As much as it can.'

Rumen surprised himself by touching his little brother's shoulder gently, as he did Viktor's. 'Soon, Penko. This will be over soon.'

'No, Rumen. Not for a very long time.'

'I know.'

Penko motioned to the papers. 'Slughorn's correspondence. We intercepted them and Hermione's going to read them later for content.'

'Your English is good, did you look it over?'

'Not very good. I did, nothing that I can see but stories about when he was younger and notes about food.'

'Thrilling.'

'No, not at all. Rab, you know, he warned me about Slughorn. Told me what he is.'

'We've got people watching him, Penko.'

'It doesn't help. Have you talked to Ivan about him?'

'Not yet. Snape seems to think we've a few years. And Anu is watching like an owl.'

'It might be better to do it sooner.'

'Are you volunteering?' Rumen meant it as a jest but his brother nodded immediately. Penko was coming back into himself a bit, but he still seemed sad. Rumen wished he could say the right thing, but was there one anymore?

'I'd be glad to. We aren't that old man's panders.'

'Of course not.'

Penko was preparing to say something else when the Floo went green and a head poked out. 'Lord Krum?'

Penko knelt down. 'Mr. Aziz?'

'Her Excellency will come. Will your people be able to accommodate our needs?'

'Indeed they will, sir. And please thank your mistress from the bottom of our hearts.'

'Of course.' Mr. Aziz's head popped back in, and Penko sat back on his heels.

'That's Egypt, brother.'

'So it is.' Rumen Krum, Minister of Magic for Bulgaria and his brother, the Lord Paramount of the Conclave, breathed a sigh of relief, having perhaps won a small gain. Perhaps.

In Britain, there were plans of other sorts being made, and Rita Skeeter was privy to them all. She was currently tolerating Metellus's grunting and thrusting, knowing he'd talk after and what he said could have value to them.

Meantime, even as she moaned and thrust her hips in time with his own strangely prissy motions, she was keeping another sort of time in her head. She'd spent eight hour in Sofia, sleeping and eating a meal served by a scowling English elf, and then had been whisked back to England and to Travers.

Travers groaned and rolled off her, grinning that damned grin of his. He looked like a squirrel that way, all teeth, but she forced herself to sit up and kiss him. At least he kept his breath fresh, she reminded herself.

She was going back when the Ministers came. Snape was cooking her up an alibi as they-well, spoke is inaccurate- and Rita managed to find a smile for her idiot lover, thinking on it.

'Ree? How are you?'

'Better now, love. Why?'

'I might need to leave the country again. For a few weeks, this time.'

'Oh?'

'Wales, you know. And other places.'

'How exciting.'

'It really is. I'm moving up in the world, Ree. I'll have Bellatrix's job soon, see if I don't.'

Rita nodded as though she thought that was possible. 'Bellatrix will step down?'

'She'll have to, after this. Everyone knows what her priorities are, anyhow.'

'It was her daughter, Metellus.'

'They ought to have known better than marrying a British witch to some filthy foreigner. Walden's never forgiven them, you know. He wanted the girl for Wetherell.'

'Wetherell is quite a bit older, isn't he?'

'He is. A nice enough bloke, even with that business over the whore last year.'

'Did the reconstruction take?'

'Of her face? I daresay not. Still, that's what happens when a woman like that get above herself.'

He rose, kissing her on the brow. 'I'm off to shower and then to a meeting. You?'

'Staying in.'

'You're sure you're well?'

'Just tired.'

He frowned. 'Do we need to have Nomascus look you over?'

'No, no. It's that story for Witches' Weekly. About the shoes?'

Metellus nodded, stepping into the corridor to go to the small bathroom. 'As long as you're sure.'

Rita could read the subtext. 'I'm not, Metellus.'

'All right.'

As soon as he was gone, Rita stood up and went to bathe herself. She scrubbed Metellus off her skin and then donned her most anonymous clothes, and sent Metellus's elf Punky on a long list of errands, a trip which typically took the elf a few hours.

She closed her eyes, feeling a headache starting behind her brow.

'Mippy?'

The little elf appeared. 'Mistress Rita?'

'Any word?'

Mippy shook his head. 'No, Mistress Rita.'

'All right.'

'Mippy is asking the Master to check?'

'Would you?'

Mippy came back no more than five minutes later with a note from Snape. Rita opened it, nervous, suddenly, that either Punky or Metellus might come back.

'You will have an interview to do tomorrow. Mippy will meet you outside the Purple Unicorn in Cardiff at nine AM. Do not be late.'

Rita burnt the note and sent the elf back, indicating she understood. Who was in Cardiff, she wondered, and what would she interview them about?

As soon as she got to the office that morning, Nigel half-leapt from his desk. His face, usually splotched with broken veins, was pale. 'Ree, this is the big time. The Dark Lord himself's asked for you.'

'Asked for me?'

'He wants to recruit more Snatchers. He's sending you to talk to Llewellyn Rice himself in Cardiff. You know the Purple Unicorn?'

'Right off Glendower Lane, is it?'

'That's the one. Seven o'clock, Rita, sharp. This is a big day for us, a big day.'

'Nige, we're a witches' mag. How many of our readers are going to jump up and go be Snatchers?'

'Damned few, but they've sons, haven't they? Husbands, brothers, sweethearts, nephews, and wouldn't it be awfully glamorous?'

'I suppose so.'

'Exactly. And his lordship asked for you specially.' Nigel was almost dancing, looking a little like Crouch Jr was apt to during major events. Rita nodded excitedly.

'Why Cardiff?'

'The new camps are in Wales or something. Have a good time, Rita.'

She wasn't sure she'd have called it a good time, precisely, she thought hours later as she came back in to her office. She kicked off her violet eel skin shoes and settled on her tiny settee, hands pressing her eyes. When she got home, she planned to take a bath and get quietly drunk.

'Ree? Did you get it?'

She almost jumped. Almost. 'Yes, Nigel, I did.'

'You all right?'

'I'm fine. Just a headache.'

'You've been having a lot of headaches lately, Rita. Are you all right?'

She nodded, forcing herself to smile. 'I'm getting old. My eyesight is worse.'

'You should get your glasses changed soon.'

'I'll make an appointment, to be sure.'

Nigel took her copy and left, clearly pleased with her. Rita stood up and put her pumps back on. Taking her purse, she went to tell Nigel she was taking the rest of the day.

That night, she waited until Metellus was drowsing to bring it up. 'Metellus, do you remember when I mentioned my Aunt Maud?'

'Hmm mmm.'

'She lives in Gibraltar. Her heart is not good.'

'Oh. Sorry.'

'I'd like to go and see her. Would you talk to someone and see about a letter to get me out of the country?'

'Mmm hmm. Nice, Ree. See the ol' girl.'

'She's never married. Scared, the poor thing.'

Metellus made a sympathetic noise and rolled on his side. For all his many faults, Rita had to admit he could be far worse. She rolled too, thinking of what she'd heard from Rice.

He'd written it down, taking her pad from her, chatting about the weather as he wrote.

'Friday. Ask your friend to make the arrangements, the rest'll be done for you. When the time comes, wear plain dark clothes.'

She'd nodded, feeling a little stagey, like this was some sort of stage melodrama.

'And try not to look so sad, would you? People will notice.'

Then the interview started in earnest. Rice could give good quotes, that was for sure, so he'd spent a good hour rhapsodising about the joys of service, reminiscing about his childhood in Pontypool, and making bland, uncontroversial remarks about current events. From this gruel, she could construct an interview that Nigel would adore, and that the witches of Britain would obligingly gobble up.

Like Travers, her editor was pleased to give her time off. 'An auntie? By all means, go. Poor thing, all alone.'

'She's quite sick. Her heart.'

He frowned sympathetically. 'Perhaps bring her something nice?'

'I will, Nigel, thank you.'

After she'd left work(having turned gruel to galleons, once again) she went to the nicest purveyor of ladies' toiletries in Diagon Alley and bought a soap and dusting powder set for her imaginary aunt. She was putting her life, literally, in Snape's hands.

Metellus came home, holding her safe conduct. 'Here you go, love, with Charlie Wilkes' compliments.'

'Thank you, Metellus.'

'You're welcome, my dear. Have a nice long rest, won't you?'

'I will.'

Rita headed for the Portkey office only to find herself waylaid by Llewellyn Rice, who came seemingly from the shadows and tugged her into a disused corridor. Jocelyn Biksdale was there as well, and pulled out a small phial. Rice plucked a single hair from her head, and Biksdale, grimacing, swallowed.

With a quick transfiguration of the robes, false-Rita was off for Gibraltar, and real Rita was given her own phial and papers announcing her to her to be a holiday maker bound for Turkey.

Within four hours she was back in Sofia. Outside, children were laughing. Inside, she was facing the odd Penko Krum again. He smiled politely and asked for the bundle of papers Rice had given her. These she extracted from her shoe and gave him.

'There's a phial there, Madam, to remove the Polyjuice.'

She drank it. It was vile. Penko Krum was looking over the papers, nodding thoughtfully. 'These prove that attack was deliberate, you know.'

'Do they?'

'Yes.'

Rita found that she felt relaxed for the first time in weeks. This might be a beginning. The nightmare might be over soon. She had no great hopes for her own future, but perhaps this would make things a bit brighter.

'My nephew and niece regret that cannot receive you personally at this time. As you might imagine, we are rather busy.'

'Of course.'

'And we must ask you to stay in the assigned areas. Only a very few people must see you.'

'I understand.'

Krum offered her a glass of wine. 'How is it in Britain?'

Rita sipped. 'I don't know. Outwardly normal, I expect. Metellus seems to think he'll have Madam Lestrange's job before long.'

'Oh? What do you think?'

'It would look terrible for the-for him to give her the sack. Her being a war hero and all.'

'Quite, quite.'

They chatted a bit more, until Rita, overcome with curiosity, finally said 'Do I hear children?'

'You do. The Vicereine is passionately devoted to Bulgaria's children. She's set up a sort of model school here for the children of the nobility. She dreams of the day schools like hers will be in every village and town in the country.'

Rita nodded. Keep one's friends close and the children of the enemy closer, bind them to you with love. Clever, that. She wondered idly what the parents thought of this arrangement and whether the girl cared.

Rita had heard the stories about both of them, after all. The boy had hung two hundred wolves at Castle Krum and left them to dangle from his walls like fruit for a week; the girl had burnt seventy aurors alive outside these very walls; stories about what had happened during the siege, and the story, repeated in whispers, that young Malfoy had brought Borev's head to the boy, and still had it someplace, charmed to stay fresh, mouth open in his final plea for mercy.

Rita wasn't sure which of those she believed, precisely. It almost didn't matter. No one knew better than Rita how the truth could be changed to suit the circumstances. She was preparing to ask after the health of various Krums and Krum relatives to be polite when the dogs started to howl, and then the screams started from the courtyard.

Krum drew and sprinted past her, shouting for his nephews and nieces. Rita knew she wasn't supposed to be seen. She also knew she'd sat back before and let other people die. She was done with that. For the first time in her adult life, Rita Skeeter drew, intending to do, or prevent, violence, and, kicking off her pumps, ran after.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**We have a TV Tropes page now! See my profile for the link :)**

**Special thanks to Aussie Muggle for creating it.**

**Doubly so, because a comment she left in a review inspired part of this chapter. Specifically, she mentioned Viktor having a Khal Drogo moment...**

**NB: Hermione refers to Snape as her godfather. Technically speaking he isn't, but it's the easiest way to explain to outsiders about their unique bond.**

**Spoiler A/N at the bottom.**

Viktor Krum closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He could hear the priests chanting in the small chapel, and the sobs of the parents. Usually, his temper was not an issue for him. Viktor was proud of his self-control in most things, and he strove never to scare or hurt a person who didn't attack him first.

Not now. He opened his eyes and began to make his way through the group of lords and lady, all of whom bowed or curtsied. Many of their children, tearstained and shivering, reached for him as he passed. He slowed, stopping to give hugs or pats to those that wanted them, and congratulate a few that had earnt it.

The room he was headed to was in the heart of the Ministry. The employees had all been sent home with stern orders to stay off the Firecall, and the elves were massing silently in the corridors, weeping softly.

It all felt too familiar to him, but foreign too, seen through the lens of the purest, coldest rage he's ever known. A thousand times worse than the lake, worse even that his hatred for Stefan, if only slightly.

They were waiting for him in one of the conference rooms. The ayran was sitting on the table, and the head of the Bulgarian Guild of Potioners was testing a sample, her face tense. She added a sprinkle of something and straightened up, cursing under her breath.

'Poisoned, beyond a doubt.'

Hermione inhaled deeply. She had changed, even as he had, into clean clothing. Both of them had been covered in spilt ayran and even worse things after the...accident. No, he corrected himself, it was anything but an accident.

'Madam Banciu, how good to see you again.' The Romanian ambassador nodded politely, impassive.

'And yourself, Lord Protector. I am given to understand there was a problem this afternoon.'

'I am given to understand that seventy-eight children were nearly poisoned, along with the Vicereine and myself.'

'My God. I hope no one was hurt.'

'Nine children had to be taken to have their stomach pumped, three are currently in the Serious ward, and Rada Popova would have died had my wife not happened to have a bezoar on her person.'

'On her person. How fortunate.'

Hermione's face tightened. 'My godfather, Severus Snape, gave me one set in a bracelet as a birthday gift. He is a Potions master by trade.'

'Of course. Again, I am genuinely sorry to hear about this.' She seemed to more or less mean it, but that made Viktor angrier and not calmer.

'I am glad to hear that. If there is anything you should like to tell us, Madam Banciu, I suggest you do it now.'

'If you are intimating, my lord, that Romania had something to do with-'

'I am intimating nothing. I am telling you, with God as my witness, that should I find out Romania was behind this, should I ever discover that you or any other Romanian had a hand in this thing, I will bring my troops to your country and your world will burn.'

'I am telling you that I will choke your rivers with corpses and your streets will run red with blood. I am telling you I will chain your women and drive them here to march in my triumphal parade and then give them to my wolves as brides, and send your children to my people to raise.'

'I am telling you I will kill every adult wizard in the country, burn your fields and have your homes razed. I'm telling you I will desecrate the bones of your ancestors and have the altarpiece in the cathedral in Bucharest brought here to adorn my private chapel.'

'I am telling you that the wailing of your women will echo through history, and that if you would not hear it, if you would not have the skulls of your fathers perched as warning round the ruins of Wizarding Bucharest, if you would have your children grow up speaking their own language, then now is the time to tell us what you know, because we will destroy you if you do not.'

'Madam Banciu, would you like to tell us anything?'

Madam Banciu's mouth was hanging open. One of her aides burst into tears and the other, whey-faced, wasn't moving. The ambassador finally stood up shakily.

'You dare to-'

'I dare to. My question?'

'I know nothing of this attempt. We aren't animals, my lord.'

'Nor are we, but if cornered we will lash out. Will you swear you know nothing of this?'

She did it, which rather raised her in his estimation. Likely she was personally ignorant of what had gone on. He bowed and with his wife left the three to compose themselves before the elves saw them out.

Beside him, Hermione was quiet. Finally she slid her tremouring hand in his. 'You were very angry in there.'

'I was. Did it scare you?'

'No. I'm angry too.'

'I didn't mean to take over. I know she's normally yours to deal with.'

'No, it was good. I've never rendered her speechless.'

'Yet.'

Hermione grinned evilly. 'Yet.' She pecked his cheek and led him toward the place where one of their own lay sick. He went, his anger still burning in him like coals.

By the time Viktor got to the family quarters, the Kasks had come back, and Paavo, even angrier than he'd been about the Dementors, had joined Scabior, Vata and Arco leading teams to sweep the environs of the Ministry, all of them visibly furious.

Vaike was no calmer, and had gone with Drago to find out where the ayran had come from to be sure it was not an attempt by one of their own people . An elf was with them, but if nothing else the mood of the place discouraged any thoughts of romance.

The Tamms had come, and Barty, and Sirius-Salazar, who was leading the dogs in helping the searchers outside the walls. Alise Scabior had taken a few sips of the poisoned ayran, only one or two, but enough that Hermione had, unusually, exercised her right as Vicereine, and Alise's best friend, and ordered her to stay in bed. When Viktor had seen them last, Alise was lying in bed with Hermione and Niska fussing over her and Scabior giving both of them stern looks and muttered warnings out of what Viktor suspected to be well-hidden fear.

Now it was just himself, the Tamms and Barty. Sose was holding up well; her face was pink, but it seemed more anger than fear. 'I could do it. Oversee the food. For the children. This is terrible.'

'Would you, Aunt Sose? We'd appreciate that.'

She nodded. 'Be glad to. Your elves will help? I don't know much about Bulgarian food.'

'Of course.'

She nodded and sat down, visibly shaken by making what was, for her, a speech. Still, Viktor appreciated it tremendously; she could have the food prepared there and brought here as a layer of protection. And if the children ate Albanian food too, where was the harm?

Barty suddenly cleared his throat. 'Are you having another headache? You and Draco, I swear.'

Viktor shook his head English-style and knelt beside his mad kinsman to rub Lady's velvety ears. The dog chuffed sadly. She knew disaster had been only narrowly averted, and had refused to go, opting to guard the Pack still in the walls.

Viktor hugged her a second, smelling her good musty smell of fur and dust, and then stood up as the door flew inward and a cascade of shouting people flooded in.

'We found that son of a bitch!'

'Paavo! Viktor, we've got a suspect in custody.'

'Already? Excellent, all of you. Were was he?'

'Salazar caught is smell from the phial and we tracked im to this lil flat on Tsar Ivan Street, m'lord.'

'Salazar, well done.' The dog bowed and went at once to Aunt Sose, getting between her and the jubilant searchers. Aunt Sose looked nearly ready to cry.

'Gentlemen, I'll join you shortly in the sub-basement. Aunt Sose, could I ask you to go and check on Alise? She'd be greatly cheered to see Salazar, I'm sure.'

That left him with just Barty. Viktor was trying to find a polite way to encourage him to find somewhere else to be when Barty spoke first. 'Viktor?'

'Barty?'

'Not yet.'

'Not yet what?'

'Wait a few minutes, all right?'

'I can't, Barty, I need to go.'

He moved toward the door and Barty blocked him, probably the only man in Bulgaria who'd have dared. He was definitely the only person, male or female, who'd do what he did next, which is to say he threw his arms about Viktor and said very firmly 'No.'

'No, what, Barty?'

'Not until you've calmed down. Wait here with me a second.'

'I have to go and talk to this fellow, Barty, is all.'

'No. If you go down like this you'll hurt him. You don't want that, Viktor.'

Viktor could have shoved him back. Barty was nearly as tall as he, but lighter, and there would be no consequences. Except he couldn't possibly do that, not even now, not even with everything at stake. Viktor hugged back and made himself breath.

'Good. That's right, good.'

'Barty, I need to go now.'

Barty released him. 'Listen first. When I was your age-or a little older-I did a bad thing, Viktor. I don't remember it very much, but I did. And I can't fix it, or those aurors I hurt, but you can make a different choice. You don't have to end up like me.'

Viktor's breath nearly stopped for a second. 'Barty...'

'No, it's true. Everyone knows I did that. Don't they?'

It hurt so much. It hurt to say it. 'Yes.'

'Then don't do what I did. Do you promise?'

'I do. I promise.'

'I know you'll make good choices, Viktor. Because we love you and we're depending on you.'

Viktor never admitted this, but until the day he died he believed with his entire heart that God had sent Barty to him to stop him from doing something awful. Viktor had heard the stories about his in-laws and wasn't sure what he believed, but now, having been confronted with his obligations to the others-to be their leader, no matter how huge his own rage and his fear-he knew he had to set the right tone right away.

The basement was dark. To Viktor, the sub-basement would always be a deathroom, the ghosts of the fallen hovering nearby to remind him of the cost of his almost-crown.

They were there. His wife, Drago, Vaike, Anu, Scabior, Paavo, Enver Vata, Arco, even Sirius-Salazar. The man they'd caught was trussed and gagged on the floor, a black bag over his head. His fear was a rank miasma that hung over everything. Arco was studying him with a strange look on his face, nostrils flaring as he breathed in the stench. The uncles were absent-Uncle Rumen was dealing with hysterical parents and Uncle Penko was crafting a statement for the press and notifying their allies that something could be brewing.

'Hello, everyone. Anu, go to Barty and stay with him or your mother until one of us comes for you. You're of more help defending them and the children, all right?' Anu went without a word of protest.

'Paavo, make sure no one can get in here and Silence everything. Sirius, change back, we might need you. He's an animagus, we'll explain later.'

Hermione cast a bubble of Silence about the group. Viktor abruptly felt like he was the one leading a group of conspirators, not the opposite. The group pulled together, and Viktor remembered Barty's plea and his own promise.

'We need to handle this the right way.'

Nods. Scabior cracked his knuckles and looked toward the bound man. The offer was implicit in his look, in his movements. He'd handle it for them if asked. He wanted to handle it for them. It would please him greatly to do that, in fact.

'No. Not unless we need to, Scabior.'

Hermione nodded at once. 'The more reasonable we are in the way we go about this, the better we'll look to everyone else.'

Scabior subsided a bit, but Viktor could see him darting eyes at the prisoner. 'If e shud decides e doan wants to talk?'

'Then you'll get a turn. Let's try the other way first.'

Paavo raised a palm. 'We need to figure out how he got to the yoghurt, and whether we need to get rid of all the food as a precaution.'

'Good thinking. What else?'

'How many of them are there? He can't be the only one.'

That from Enver, whose ill-fitting skin was tight with anger. He had, if Viktor recalled correctly, an aunt and little cousins living with his family. Was he seeing their faces as he thought about what had happened because this man had put it into motion?

'That, too.'

Hermione cleared her throat. 'We need to figure out how to address this with the Conclave. This could weaken us if we don't do things just the right way.'

Scabior shook his head. 'Beggin milady's pardon, but I doan thinks. I think mebbe this could be what it takes fer them nobs t sees you aint foolin.'

'How, Scabior? Speak freely, please.'

'Milady, I known you since you was a lil girl. I aint never told you nothing I dint think was true. Give them this cu-bloke, and I tells you I think they'll be yers ferever. Because it'll shows em you means to do what it takes, d'you see?'

Paavo nodded his assent. 'I'm with Lem. He has to die.'

Hermione's face never changed. 'We've been assuming that. I think our best chance is to stress that we can meet him half way. If he goes along, it will be easier than if he doesn't. Viktor?'

Barty, he thought, and nodded his head. Hermione was his wife and the person he most loved on Earth; because of that, because he respected her acumen and her decisiveness and her willingness to do what had to be done, and also because she was completely correct.

'Yes. If he cooperates, we will bring him before the Conclave, try him and execute him.'

'If he doesn't?'

Scabior smiled cheerfully. 'Oh, doan you worry none, Enver. Me an Arco, we kin works sumthin outs, yeah, Eugen?'

Arco nodded impassively. 'We'll take care of everything.'

'Thank you, Scabior.' Viktor smiled at the odd little man who disquieted him almost as much as impressed him with his abilities. Scabior nodded, smiling straight back.

'Ready, then?'

'Lead on, Hermione.' Drago spoke for the first time. He was quiet, watchful. Viktor pushed his worry about Drago's mental state back and nodded his assent.

Hermione cancelled the bubble and then strode over and pulled the hood from the man's head. An average fellow, with brown hair and wide eyes. Hermione was looking at him like she would something vile on the sole of her shoe.

'You've one chance to tell us the truth or Scabior takes over. Nod if you understand.'

He did. Hermione swished her wand and the gag vanished. The man on the floor was looking up with her with his wide eyes. She ignored it and pressed on, wand trained on the man's throat.

'Whom do you work for?'

'I was contacted by a bloke called Matthews.'

'Was it his real name?'

'How should I know?'

Scabior came up behind Hermione and lashed out with his hard, booted foot, catching the prisoner's elbow. The man screamed, writhing in his bonds. Hermione waited until he'd finished to resume.

'He told you to poison the children?'

'Children?'

Hermione leant closer, wand digging into the man's Adam's apple. 'You nearly killed eighty children today. Were those your orders?'

'No.'

'What were your orders?'

'Matthews gave me a phial of something and an elf. He said get the elf into the Ministry and it would do the rest.'

'Then what happened?'

'I did it. The elf never came back.'

Viktor felt his heart jerk. 'Kreacher, I want every elf in the Ministry assembled in the corridor in two minutes, go!'

'Was Matthews an Englishman?'

'I think so. He had an accent of some kind.'

'Where did you meet him?'

'Gibraltar.'

'Who was he working for?'

'Don't know.'

'Was it Walden Mcnair?'

'Don't know.'

'Was it Thofinn Rowle?'

'Don't know.'

'Was it Amycus Carrow?'

'Don't know.'

Scabior lashed out again, catching the man's ribs. 'Was I you, mate, I reckon I'd thinks real gud bout yer answers. Cause if you aints a lil more elpful, Arco an me're gonna take over the askin.'

'Who gave you the phial? Was it Walden Mcnair?'

'No!'

'Was it Thorfinn Rowle?'

'No!'

'Who gave you the phial?'

'Matthews!'

'Was it Antonin Dolohov? Was it Metellus Travers? Was it Mamercus Jugson? Was it Charles Wilkes?'

'No! It was a wolf! Matthews was a wolf!'

'Fenrir Greyback?'

'I don't know! It was a wolf!'

'Was it on Greyback's orders?'

'I don't know!'

Hermione leant over. Her face was utterly intent, eyes glowing with that dangerous strength. Viktor could feel himself hardening, the evidence of his wife's power made manifest in the swirling currents about them, the crackle of her magic in the air.

'You shan't leave this building alive. You know that, don't you?'

The man nodded. The fear smell was stronger. Hermione leant over a bit more, wand pressing hard on the man's neck.

'Help us help you. If you cooperate, we will be lenient with you.'

'You'll still kill me.'

'Yes. But we'll do it ourselves. Otherwise...'

Viktor never saw Scabior draw his knife. It was just in his hand, like a part of himself. He gently tapped Hermione and she stood up and gave him her place. Scabior said nothing, just held it silently, smiling.

Hermione didn't look back as she left to join her husband in sorting out the elves.

Viktor could hear the elves gathering. Many of them were wailing. He felt a deep tiredness, and wished someone else could do this. They couldn't, any more than someone besides Hermione or himself could make the choices about what would need to come next. He waited for Hermione to join him and then stepped out in the hall. 'Vaike, Paavo, Enver, would you help us?'

There were well over one hundred elves. Niska was front and centre as their private housekeeper, tears running down her cheeks.

'Elves have failed!'

'Now is not the time. I want any elf who has served at Castle Krum to stand next to Vaike. Elves of Castle Borev, stand next to Paavo. Ministry elves, between the Vicereine and me.'

The elves did it. 'Niska, pick out any unfamiliar faces. Elves who are selected, stand next to Enver, please.'

Niska chose out a small handful, all wearing Ministry togas. Viktor drew and stunned them all, Hermione joining him. He levitated their limp bodies, shoving away the memories of the aftermath of the Dementor's attack.

'Niska, show them to the poisoner and detain that elf. Keep the others here until we release them, do you understand?'

'Kreacher, get the potioner, please. We'll have need of her services. And give her our sincerest apologies for her trouble.'

Hermione touched his arm gently. 'I'm going to get Draco. We'll want to have the prisoner dosed and see if we can't get some more out of him.'

'Yes, of course.'

That's what they did. What they learnt was interesting indeed.

As it turned out, Scabior had the right of it. When they convened the Conclave the next morning, it was packed, lords and ladies crammed in, along with grandparents, aunts, and uncles, cousins, family priests, elves, and whomever else.

The Patriarch had come from the cathedral to open things, and once his prayer was over and acolytes had swung censors to cleanse the air, the Lord Protector and Vicereine addressed the crowd. From her place on the side of the dais, Alise watched it all, and smiled a little to encourage her friend as it began.

Hermione looked like death. The Belgians had sent her a robe of lace months earlier, too ornate for Hermione's usual tastes, but now perfect, dyed black, like shadow given form, like darkness had insinuated itself about her friend and held her to cover her nudity from the others, like Hermione was part of itself and of it and in it.

With a matching scarf and small circles of carmine to emphasis, rather than disguise her pallor, her grim faced husband standing silently beside her, she looked to Alise like a figure from myth, like a sibyl, like the beautiful death the Greeks sometimes wrote about. Alise closed her eyes and breathed a prayer to St. Barbara to give Hermione strength for what was to come.

'Mr. Scabior, bring the prisoner here, please.'

The fellow could walk under his own power. That was good; Alise felt the air in the room get a little brighter as the lords and lady saw that. If he'd been tortured, it didn't show. Lem led him, blank-faced, to the front, and stood next to Arco across from her. He caught her eye and winked, once, and then all was business.

Viktor's voice was quite loud and clear, unlike his usual soft murmur. 'I am Viktor, lord Krum, Lord Protector of Bulgaria, and when my wife and I took office, we swore we would protect you. Madam Stojanova, the Veritas serum, if you would.'

The head of the potioners's guild came forward and silently handed over a phial to the prisoner, who drank it and then handed the empty container back.

Viktor cleared his throat. 'Mr. Blagoev?'

The prisoner stepped forward. 'I am Giorgi Blagoev, and I confess freely to being the person who caused the children to be poisoned, by means of inducing a house elf supplied to me by an Englishman to enter the Ministry and assassinate the Lord Protector and Vicereine.'

'I confess as well, on my immortal soul, that I did not mean for the children to get hurt. I was told by my contact that the elf would be able to discern what food was the correct one.'

'In April of this year, I was approached by a man called Matthews, and promised my services in return for ten thousand gold perperas. We met in Gibralter, and he gave me a phial and an elf.'

'Yesterday, under the guise of presenting a petition, I sneaked in with the elf. I have not seen it since. I waited until I heard the screams and left. Lemuel Scabior found me in a rented room on Tsar Ivan Street.'

'I repent most humbly and sincerely of my crimes, and ask you all to forgive me, and pray for my immortal soul. I particularly wish to apologise to the parents of Rada Popova, Teodor Zhelov, Ana Svetkova, and Dimitar Zukov.'

'Thank you, sir.'

Hermione seemed not to see them. 'Bring in the elf, please.'

An elf floated toward them, holding a pitcher. Kreacher offered a cup and Viktor took the pitcher and filled it. From her place on the dais, Alise saw, if no one else did, the shaking of his hands. Other than that, he was still, watching this next part. Hermione brushed against him ever-so-gently and then spoke.

'Identify yourself, please.'

'Norry, Madam.'

'Did you poison this ayran, Norry?'

'Yes, Madam.'

'With what substance?'

'Tincture of hemlock, Madam.'

'For what purpose?'

'Norry was to assassinate the Lord Protector and Vicereine, Madam.'

'My husband and me?'

'Yes, Madam.'

'Why did you poison the ayran instead of food?'

The elf started to sniffle. 'Norry reads only English, Madam. Norry thought it was cream for puddings.'

'Did you want to poison us, Norry?'

'No, Madam! Norry is not wanting to poison anyone!'

'Under whose orders were you acting, Norry?'

'Master Giorgi Blagoev, Madam.'

'Who gave you to him?'

'Norry doesn't know.'

'Would you be able to pick him out again, should you see him?'

'Yes, Madam.' The elf was still crying but smiled at the same time, delighted by the chance to redeem himself through usefulness.

'You're quite thin, Norry. Were you being mistreated?'

'Yes, Madam.'

Viktor held out the cup and the elf took it from him.

'According to the law of the tsars, an elf acting under compulsion via its geass is an innocent third party to harm done by explicit instruction of the holder of its magical bonds. The elf Norry is therefore judged to be free of deliberate malice.'

'However, my wife and I feel that neither can he be pardoned and released. We will hold the elf here until such time as he might prove useful to us in finding the person or persons who ordered this.'

A low buzz of approval. Alise suspected that the parents would have preferred the elf die; on the other hand, none of the die-hard traditionalists could possibly claim that the ancient ways were not being followed.

'Madam Stojanova, do your findings support Norry's contention?'

'The do, Vicereine.'

'Mr. Blagoev, is what Norry saying true?'

'Yes, Vicereine.'

Viktor sounded very sure as he spoke the next part. 'By those same laws, Giorgi Blagoev is hereby sentenced to die for the crimes of treason and poisoning. Give him the cup, Norry.'

Blagoev goggled. 'But I...you said...'

'You are a traitor and an assassin, and this is a far kinder fate than you merit. Now drain the cup.'

Blagoev opened his mouth to protest and Hermione's wand snapped up. His voice cut off mid-word, and then he was trying to run. Lem was on him before he'd got a metre, and snapped his wind, binding the fellow's legs to keep him standing there and his arms so he couldn't claw.

Later Alise would wonder if they'd known this would happen, and whether they'd rehearsed for it. At the time, she didn't think about that. She just watched it playing out, feeling that this was inevitable, that this had been meant to happen this way.

Malfoy stepped up and lifted the smaller man easily, holding him tightly to his chest as Lem took the cup from the elf. Paavo Kask came along Malfoy's other side, pinching Blagoev's nose shut as Vata, misaligned face blank, seized his thrashing head and held it.

Blagoev tried to open his mouth too quickly for them to do it, but they were faster. Lem emptied the cup. The ayran ran red down the failed assassin's chin as Kask clamped a hand over his mouth to keep him from spitting it out. Vata stroked his throat gently, forcing the mixture into his stomach.

They held him until the convulsions started, and then, as though they'd planned it, let him go as one. He dropped and lay there, seizing, face purpling, eyes rolling, gurgling a wet sucking gurgle. His throat was closing, and his fingers clawed, raking bloody furrows in the flesh. Lem came and stood beside her, saying nothing. She saw the question in his eyes and nodded very slightly; of course she understood.

When it was over, and elves had come to take the crabbed, stinking remains away, Viktor cleared his throat. The room could not have been quieter or more intense, could not have felt darker.

'We have sworn to protect you, and that's what we will do. If the parents of the children would please stay behind, my wife and I would like to speak with you.'

They filed out, talking softly. Alise slipped toward Hermione. 'Should I stay?'

Hermione's eyes narrowed. 'Alise Emilja Scabior, you promised.'

'I feel fine.'

'I'll be there in an hour, I swear.'

'Hermione, I'm fine.'

'Alise, right now, please.'

Lem was there too. 'She's rite, darlin. You aint s'pose to be up an movin any'ow. Come on, backs t bed with you. Move, girl!' But he was grinning as he said it, so Alise, knowing she was beaten, nodded her assent.

He walked her back. 'Alise, duck, you gud?'

'Yes, of course.'

'You aint scared, now?' His gaze was piercing, and Alise blushed a little. Sometimes it was weird to be on the receiving end of someone's concern, but she also liked it. She slid her hand into his.

'He had to die, Lem. We all knew that.'

'Course we did. But it's one thing t say an another t see.'

'He deserved it. Poor Rada might never recover.'

'An the others. Teodor, e's a rite nice lil bloke. All of em is nice, really.'

'How are you?'

Lem considered. 'Rather they'd let me do these things. It aint fittin, nobs doin fer the likes a that cu-man.'

'It speaks well of them that they did it themselves.'

'That's the truth. You know, I always knew Flower ad it in er. Jus wish as she dint ave to. None a you. It's not rite.'

'No. But we're doing our best.'

'I'm proud a how gud all you dun. You never twitched a bit.' Lem smiled and Alise smiled back, feeling a glow of pleasure. He was an odd fellow in some ways, but she liked him.

'You know, I really do feel fine.'

'No, no, no. Doan you start that, now. Flower sez you needs t lie down, and oo are we t'argue with er?'

'I'm her best friend.'

'Yeah, an that's why you needs to mind er. She luvs you an she'll never lets me ear the ends of this unless you be a gud girl an lie down.'

Alise grinned. 'Mmm, I suppose.'

'Naw, no s'pose abouts it. Sides, you aint well.'

'It was a single sip.'

'Still.'

Alise shook her head. She had a vivid flash of the moment she'd known something was wrong-the ayran tasted hot and sour and green. She didn't have a cup yet-she had Dimitar on her lap, and he had offered her a sip of his. He was learning to share.

She'd spat it in the dust, and beside her, Toma Kounev had jerked with shock. 'Alise, what's wrong?'

'Don't drink it! Don't drink the ayran!'

It was too late. Rada was already convulsing, and then others, and then Alise had doubled over in the worst pain she'd ever felt. She'd been faintly aware of vomiting all over herself, and then Lem was there, and blessed peace had overcome until she'd woken in her own bed, Hermione beside her.

She donned her nightclothes and crawled into bed in their quarters. Lem tucked the blankets under her chin. 'You stay there, yeah? I means it, duck, doan you gets up if you doan needs t. Promise?'

'Promise.'

Lem gave her a final sharp glare and then went off on some ill-defined errand. Alise snuggled into the bed, which was huge and cosy, until she heard their elf (a wedding gift from the Krums) ushering Hermione in. Alise sat up, smiling to see her friend. She stopped smiling as soon as she saw the look on Hermione's face.

'Hermione, what's wrong?'

Hermione kicked off her shoes (she'd changed into every day clothes) and climbed in beside her friend. 'It's silly, Alise.'

'Hermione.'

'Alise, am I still a good person?'

Whilst Alise and Hermione grappled with the issue of morality, in Romania things were happening. Arthur Weasley set down his wine and stared at the vice-Minister in shock.

'Dorina, you think I would approve of this?'

'I never said that, Arthur. I had to ask. Poor Magdalena is half in hysterics. She doesn't think they're bluffing.'

'I assure you, no one I know would do such a thing.'

'If you say they wouldn't, I believe you. I had to ask.'

'Of course you did. I didn't mean to snap your head off.'

'I understand. We're all stressed these days. How's Molly?'

'Well enough.'

Suddenly an aide burst in. 'Madam vice-Minister, come now!'

'What's wrong, Ioan?'

'The Minister is dead!'

'What?'

Hours later, now-Minister Dorina Vulpes set down her handkerchief, face swollen. 'Arthur?'

'Dorina, what can I do?'

'It's time for us to discuss contacting the Bulgarians. It's the only way.'

Arthur Weasley, a Minister of Magic with no country, nodded. 'I know.'

**Spoiler A/N: **

**For those of you wondering how Sirius-Salazar tracked the poisoner, the answer is that the phial came wrapped in an old handkerchief of Blagoev's. No said he was a _good_ assassin.**


	27. Chapter 27

**TRIGGER WARNING: ****There is discussion of sexual abuse in this chapter, in some depth, and whilst nothing is overtly shown, the subject is discussed frankly.**

**In order to make sure those wishing to avoid the part in question may do so, I have bolded the first sentence of the next part. If you feel this might be too upsetting for you, simply skip to the bolded part.**

**Generally speaking, this chapter is a landmine. Slughorn did not choose to be what he is, but he makes a choice every time he allows himself to hurt a person smaller and more helpless than himself. That, to me, is the crux of the thing: there is a moment where he could opt not to act, and he consistently, deliberately ignores it .**

**On the other hand, he is a human being. The guiding principle of my inner life is that living creatures, regardless of all else, deserve to be treated with compassion and respect as a way of honouring the spark of the transcendent that resides in all of us.**

**So if Slughorn is not a drooling, fanged beast, it is not because I believe he is a good person. It is because I believe the rest of us are, and can find in ourselves some compassion, however unmerited, for a fellow human being.**

Horace Slughorn set down his book and sighed, resting a hand on his expansive paunch. He was in the small house the Krum lad had given over to his use, and he knew nothing of the near-disaster at the Ministry, nor the response to it.

He rose on creaking, age-sore knees and went to the window. Wizarding Sofia was a very pretty place, especially in the early summer, when his chestnut tree was spreading. A family of birds was living in it, and he raised a hand in friendly salute to the mother, sitting on the nest with her hatchlings.

Slughorn was old, and he had seen many trees in many yards grow rich and then fade in his time. This one, he suspected, would be no different. He'd travelled half a continent but the old fears were there, and the old desires as well. He looked down, away from the light and noise of the city, and into his own heart, which was a place darker and much more secret, even to himself.

It wasn't that Slughorn willed what he did; on the contrary, he often thought his urges were punishment for his sins, sins he committed because he was powerless not to commit them. He was a weak man, Slughorn knew that, but did his weakness make him evil?

Evil he might have been-perhaps, or just weak-but stupid he was not. Slughorn knew himself to be a player in a drama much larger than himself, one he had set in motion decades earlier.

If he, himself, was not evil, then he had, indisputably, done great evil in his time. Muggles, he knew, said the road to Hell was paved with good intentions. Where did that leave him, he wondered, who had bartered information for pleasure, and so doing created a monster? No, he told himself, not created-perhaps he had midwifed what was there already, lurking in the shadows.

There was a stack of books sitting on the table. Practice books. He stroked the cover of one, feeling a chill go up his spine. At these moments, the intoxicating sense of his own desire could sometime drive him to tears. He touched the little handwritten name on the front and then forced himself to breath.

There was such power in them. How did they not know it, his students, those beautiful boys and their brightly burning sisters and wives? He was no connoisseur of female beauty, but even he could see their fierceness, the hard sweet thrill of their strength. To be young again, young and strong and a king, or almost a king, surrounded by a children's crusade of advisors, a band of wolfen knights and brave adventurers.

Krum was too old for him, of course, and too rough. He liked them delicate, shy, sylph-like. The Malfoy lad might have appealed, had Slughorn not seen how ancient his eyes were, and how unafraid. There was a garden in the boy, and what bloomed there was terrible, or would be if pushed to flower.

No, not at all to his tastes, but that was all right. He had Tamm, and Ivan Krum and some of the older children whom the Lord Protector had, in his wisdom-or was it cunning?-given over to him to teach.

Tamm, he thought longingly, and felt a warm pleasure only slightly tempered by his own self-disgust. The boy was just to his tastes, slight and dark-haired, with his one watchful eye and his quietness, which he wore like a skin.

Slughorn closed his eyes a second. Physically speaking, Tamm was perfect, but he had to admit, it was a shame about Malfoy. His air of barely controlled power, almost of violence...it delighted Slughorn, even as it reminded him of someone he'd once known.

Slughorn had rarely allowed himself to think of what had happened that night after the Slug Club had disbanded. He'd sent them all on their way, all but him, and he'd broken his own rules, had got sloppy, drunk on delight and on the stunning wintery beauty of the boy, his eyes like the moon in a dark well, his slick of soft dark hair...

That had been the beginning of the end of him, hadn't it? He'd traded a bit of information for that one mistake, a few sentences to keep his life and his work and his standing, and with it he had damned himself, damned himself as surely and as absolutely as a kinslayer or an oathbreaker, more completely than committing a murder.

He'd been so lovely, though, like a statue brought to life. It had seemed such a small thing, just indulging a schoolboy's curiosity about the morbid. How was he to know...what could he have done?

And now? He was an old man, and an exile, far from his own land, and faced once more with the temptation to fall, tempted by something he knew to be depraved and wicked and yet unable to free himself from the coils of its grip, like Laocoon's sons in the maw of the sea serpent.

Whichever it was, it burnt under his skin, it swam in his blood, it pounded in his brain like a kettledrum. He ran a finger down the spine of the copybook. The boy's letters were crooked but clear enough to read, and Slughorn hadn't lied to Metellus and that mistress of his-he'd rarely had a student so motivated to learn.

Was the crookedness due to the missing eye? He traced his finger gently over a sloping T, and then up the curve of the A. No. No, he couldn't. His past sins, however great, gave no excuse for present ones. Even if he wanted to. Even if it was making him mad. He picked the book up and held it in his hands.

Why was all this coming back to him again? Ever since he'd seen Tom Riddle-that-was, it kept reminding him. The twin music of his desire and his sense of his own culpability in it was growing louder in his head.

Slughorn was not a brave man, he knew that. He hadn't wanted to spy for the Dark Lord, and he didn't want to be here, where he could be hurt or killed by political upheavals. He wanted quiet and peace and to be alone with his memories of how things had once been.

Slughorn closed his eyes. He stroked the spine of the workbook and mused darkly, face going slack as he drifted into an uneasy doze.

**As Slughorn snoozed, Snape was quietly contemplating how many spells he could fire at the Lestranges before they disarmed him**. Two, he suspected, and then raised his head.

'That's what the dog-Black-told me.'

The Lestranges, all four of them, were looking at one another with varying degrees of emotion apparent. Eugenia was grey, hand to her mouth, whilst Bellatrix, sitting on the chair next to hers, was impassive, even slightly pleased.

'It was ably done, at least.'

'Quite so. It is not what I would have had for them, God alone knows that, but it comforts me they acted so decisively and intelligently.'

Rabastan looked nearly as ill as his wife. 'Rod, you can't mean that. Hermione is fifteen years old.'

'I know how old she is, Rabastan. Your son is young enough that he does not have to make these choices. My daughter is not.'

'That's not what I meant.'

'I know.' A look passed between them that Snape could only parse a bit-clearly this was some brother-thing he'd never really understand.

Eugenia was calming. She took her hand away from her mouth and breathed deeply. Rabastan gently touched her arm and she nodded. On her other side, Cunegarde snorted.

'Now that we've all been appropriately shocked and appalled, could we get on with it, Halfblood, or shall we rend our clothes and wail a bit?'

'Aunt Cunegarde! This is not funny a bit!'

'Don't tell me what's funny, Rabastan's wife! I am 121 years old, and my sense of humour is largely intact!'

Snape bit his tongue, wishing the dog was here so he could make some arse-like remark on that. The old woman was staring at him with a gimlet eye of mingled pleasure and pique.

'Well, Halfblood, shall we get on with it?'

'Are you sure, Aunt' said Rabastan delicately 'you mightn't prefer to go and lie down?'

Cunegarde snorted again. 'I know more Dark magic than the lot of you have forgot about. My father was Aeneas Lestrange, he invented the eye-melting hex, did none of you know that?'

'Of course we did, Aunt. We simply thought that after the...disturbing news about the events in Sofia-'

'What disturbing events? Do you expect me to shed tears for the likes of an assassin? I shan't. The girl behaved precisely as I have instructed her, and the rest of you as well. Pretending grief that she's excelled what was asked of her doesn't change what we've done or make our current tasks easier. Now, Halfblood, begin at once.'

Snape stood and bowed, impressed by her remarks. 'Thank you, Madam Lestrange. Now, it is imperative we find the rest of the items, assuming there are some.'

'Severus' said Lucius, speaking for the first time 'you've seen nothing in his mind?'

'No, but there's only so much I can do until he becomes suspicious. Bellatrix has likewise seen nothing. Bellatrix?'

She shook her head, hair bouncing. 'No.'

'Black's been digging for clews in various places, but he's hard to trace. We've found a few hints of anomalous activities, but very little hard information.'

'Isn't Sirius in Bulgaria?'

'Currently. I thought it prudent to have him there to make sure no untoward events occur during this conference.'

Murmurs of approval. 'He has our deepest thanks, to be sure.' Lucius sounded strangely sincere in that-Snape was relived; perhaps he was not the only one losing his edge a bit.

'Quite, quite.'

Flash git of a dog, always getting wreaths hurled at him wherever he went, whether he deserved them or not. He shook his head and went back to work, resolving to find some way to torment the filthy mongrel somehow.

'What of Slughorn?' Rabastan's eyes had sharpened, but his voice was carefully bland and calm, itself a warning sign.

'Doing well and teaching an absolutely packed class.'

'No...problems that you know of?'

'None but they're taking no chances. I daresay he's a bit cleverer than that.'

'Well and good, the pederast is getting on splendidly. Now, Halfblood, do tell us this grand plan I came here to listen to. I might have stayed at Feathering, you know.'

'We're trying to formulate one, Madam Lestrange. Unless you've one you should like to propose?'

The old woman cocked her head at him. 'As it happens, I do.'

Snape raised a brow, and the old woman, eyes lit up like a child at Christmas in pleasurable anticipation of being able to intrigue again, gave it straight back and said simply 'Why not ask him?'

'Ask him?'

'The pederast taught the other when he was young, and likes to tell tedious stories, does he not? Simply send that whory little blonde woman-do stop it, Narcissa, we're all married people, and you know very well what I mean-to flatter his pride by wanting to hear all about it.'

Snape was so nonplussed that he actually couldn't find an answer for a few seconds. Only very briefly, but still, thank goodness the idiot mongrel wasn't here to see. He recovered himself as rapidly as possible and then nodded once.

'A well thought-out plan, surely, but I'm not sure Slughorn would simply yield that information up. And Skeeter will be returning here fairly soon. Prising this information from Slughorn could be the work of weeks or more.'

'So have the little Armenian boy ask in the trollop's stead.'

'Anu is Albanian, Aunt.'

'Don't contradict your elders, Rodolphus! He's a foreigner, like the rest, though not as foul-smelling as one might expect. Drogo's influence, no doubt.'

'Draco, Cunegarde.'

'I know the boy's name, Abraxas's son! He's clearly taught the little one-eyed one a thing or two.'

Snape bit his tongue when Lucius, who was forty-four, nodded respectfully, face stiff with either annoyance or repressed amusement. Perhaps a bit of both-Malfoy didn't like having his nose twisted, but he had a streak of wry humour that might compensate for it.

'Severus, your thoughts?'

Before he could answer, Rabastan was shaking his head. 'No.'

'Rabastan-'

' I have been party to a good many terrible deeds, but I will not be party to this. I'm sickened we're even seriously considering it. Anu is a child, not a pawn to be used.'

'If it will end things faster, and spare a good many more children any number of fates worse than death? He didn't precisely have all those poor muggles in Whitnell rocked to sleep, Rabastan, if you'll remember.'

'Then send someone else Polyjuiced. Sirius, or Penko, or Pavel, but don't send a child too innocent to comprehend the true danger he is in.'

'Tamm is an accomplished wizard, and a war veteran, hardly a doe-eyed naïf.'

'That is not the point, Severus. The point is that deliberately using the child as bait was despicable, even as I admit to agreeing to it. This is beyond even that.'

'No one is saying Tamm has to do anything with which he is not comfortable.'

'No one needs to. Suppose Slughorn should offer to tell Anu in return for...for...' Rabastan inhaled deeply and forced himself on.

'Could you live with that? All of you, could you live with knowing we sat here and decided that was an acceptable risk?'

'We've no reason to believe Anu would give in. And we would send an elf with him. He ought to have one anyhow.'

'Tell me truthfully you think he would turn down a chance to aid our family, no matter the cost to himself. He willingly joined a war because Draco was nice to him, and climbed five stories up a slick stone tower on a word from Viktor. You genuinely believe he would hesitate now, with his future tied up so completely in ours?'

Snape was slightly surprised that Rabastan, of all people, was so strongly opposed. Rab was a follower, and he typically agreed with Rodolphus in practically everything of note. Not that it was bad that the younger Lestrange brother was finding his own voice-unless, of course, he got serious about not wanting to go along with Snape's plans.

'I allow that you are very likely right, Rabastan, on all counts. Unfortunately, I see very little alternative, as Black will often be engaged in other activities.'

No one did. Bellatrix was giving Rabastan an intense look. 'What changed your mind, Rabastan?'

'Nothing, per se. I have never liked letting Slughorn go amongst our children, but I understand why it is necessary. And as Severus said, the likeliest victim is hardly a babe in the woods. But if we start sacrificing the children, where does it end?'

Bellatrix said nothing for a moment, apparently contemplating. 'It ends with us. If we aren't careful, the children will end up like we are.'

'They are heading down that path as we speak. This thing with the poisoner...Aunt is right, I'm not sorry that bastard is dead-my apologies, ladies- but this is precisely the example we have given them. The children are what we deliberately made them.'

'That doesn't mean' said Malfoy immediately 'that are condemned to repeat our mistakes.'

'No' Eugenia piped up from her chair 'not at all, Lucius. It means they need our guidance more than ever, and showing them that it is acceptable to sacrifice a loved one is not all right. It's not.'

Rodolphus looked down at his hands. 'After her elf died, Hermione asked me about the Longbottoms. Both of us, actually, but she wanted to know why we'd done such a thing. I could die happy if I knew I'd spared her having to explain those things to her own children. Not literally that, of course, but I worry that someday she will face that same choice and do as we did.'

'What did you tell her?' Eugenia subsided a bit when her husband patted her arm gently. Snape sometimes thought that if he'd sold the woman into a sham, at least it was a sham that treated her kindly.

'The truth. We went because we were scared not to go, and because we wanted to. She asked me if we'd have gone knowing she was inside Trixie, and I...God help me, the answer is yes.'

'The difference, Rodolphus, is that the Longbottoms were adults, and enemy combatants. If we encourage the children to look at family members and see them as mere pieces, what's left for us?' Rabastan, who thankfully didn't notice his wife's very slight flinch at the name.

'What's left for us now?' Bellatrix stood up and paced, eyes bright with feeling. Her hand found her wand and she swung it as she moved.

'Nothing we did, **nothing**, meant anything. We gave everything to him, and all we got in return is used. I'd die happy knowing they were smarter than us about things.'

'One difference' said Malfoy 'is that, at least, the children are the ones in control, at least to a degree. Hermione and Viktor are reasonable to their subordinates. I doubt very much either of them would ever order some of the...more troubling acts we were commanded to perform.'

Narcissa cleared her throat gently. 'Were they troubling at the time?'

'Cissy?'

'We've all done, or condoned, things which seem terrible as we look back. I worry the children will order things that seem very reasonable at the time but as they age...'

'Nothing for it, unfortunately. There will be things that keep them awake at night.'

'There already are.' Malfoy sounded grim, and tired, and unbearably sad. Snape was disturbed to notice he rather wanted to say...something. He wasn't sure what, exactly, but Lucius was his friend, even if he was also a pillock sometimes.

'Well, sitting here maundering about it will be ever so useful to them, won't it? If you all feel sorry enough for yourselves, perhaps this situation will undo itself entirely and we can all go on a nice picnic.'

Snape's mouth twitched. The old woman was exactly what they all needed, he judged, and then forced himself to push onward. 'Quite so, Madam Lestrange.'

Eugenia got the group's attention. 'Has anyone thought to consider the long-term implications of what could happen?'

'Implications?'

'We need to start planning for their future. They've another twenty years officially, but practically speaking we all know it's more than that.'

'What are your suggestions, cousin?'

Eugenia looked slightly nervous, seemingly aware she was on shaky ground. 'We need to help them understand their options as regards what they'll do. If they should unite Europe, there will be choices to be made.'

A subtle electricity was in the air. They knew what she was about, and all of them, surely, had had some variation on the same thought. Finally Rodolphus said it aloud.

'You're suggesting we encourage them to become...what, Eugenia? Dark Lords in their own right?'

Eugenia looked down. Snape could see the hurt in every line of her body. Had the mask moulded to her so strongly that she was aware, for the first time, that it had become her true face?

'No. I'm saying if we want anything else to happen, we need to find some options for them, and quickly. How long do you expect before the other countries tip to what's happened and decide to offer to make if official?'

'They've rejected the crown once. Surely they wouldn't want-'

'What any of us want doesn't count anymore.' She sounded grimly resigned.

Rabastan was nodding, looking faintly green. Snape had the idea that he was contemplating the various roads that had led them to this places, the paths they'd forged that had brought them to the place they stood at, teenage niece and nephew poised to potentially rule Europe and his son both hostage and guest, to be groomed as a lieutenant to the most dangerous people in their world.

Cunegarde broke the horrified stillness. 'Rabastan's wife, come and kiss my cheek. You have just earnt your name.'

Eugenia did it, and then they went back to their impossible challenge, trying to fix the mess they'd wrought.

At Feathering, Hetty was fighting her own battles. She touched her stomach gently and then stroked Nagini's nose. The snake hissed grouchily but nuzzled her palm gently.

/meat and bed and sleep and more meat hetty-speaker/

/have to go downstairs and meet this woman/

/no/

/please nagini/

/this women doesnt touch hetty-speaker/

Nagini was displeased by the Wizarding tendency to want to touch a pregnant woman's belly. It was said to be good luck, and Hetty recognised that mostly people meant it well and wanted to share the excitement of a new life, even the ones who were working for the Dark Lord.

Hetty patted her lightly. /nap after/

/and meat nagini finds a deer nice plump juicy deer/

/steak for dinner/

/cow meat hmmph/ Nagini was really very out of countenance about recent events. Hetty stroked her neck.

/it will be good hunting/ That was as close as one could come to 'fun' in parseltongue.

/nagini hunts well when nagini's young comes back/

/soon/

/hmmph/

The snake rose a bit so Hetty could throw her arms about Nagini's long neck, giggling. Nagini sounded rather like Aunt Cunegarde, Hetty thought, and laughed again.

The elf appeared and straightened her a bit and the two ladies, one human and one snake, slowly descended the stairs, Hetty holding the railing. Elisaveta was already waiting for them, and Uncle Erasmus, who was terribly excited about the baby when he remembered to be.

Hetty stopped a moment to square her shoulders and gently raise the hem of her robes ever so slightly. She was someone, she reminded herself, and she wouldn't be bullied or intimidated. To be a queen, do for a queen.

The first thing was the smell of perfume. It burnt her eyes and her stomach, sensitive now, roiled. Something cloyingly sweet, and the acrid smell of setting lotion in the woman's hair.

The woman herself assaulted a different sense. She was all in pink, a pink so bright it hurt to look at, ruffled and bowed and frilled and pin-tucked to the nth degree. And rouge, loads of rouge, too pink, so her face looked inflamed, sickly.

'Hello, Madam Feathering. I am Delores Umbridge, Undersecretary of the Department of Internal Compliance.'

'How nice to meet you.' Hetty smiled, sitting down on her chair as gracefully as she could. Nagini curled about her, resting her enormous head on the back on the chair so she could stare at Umbridge unblinkingly.

/nagini thinks nagini can make this foul-smelling female make eye-water just by looking/

Hetty tried not to giggle at the snake's remark. 'What might we do for you?'

Umbridge made a weird little coughing sound. 'Hem hem, I just wanted to see how we're getting along here. Dear Thorfinn-Thorfinn Rowle-sent me.'

'We're quite well. Yourself?'

'Oh, wonderful. Hem, hem, and the children?'

/does this female know where Nagini's young have been take tell the female to bring them back right now/

'I have not heard from the children, nor any of us.'

'No? How tragic that must be for you.'

'Surely' said Hetty, leaning into Nagini's coils 'if the Dark Lord decides something, it is enough for us to know we are his servants, and not to question, Madam Umbridge?'

The woman looked flustered, whether by Hetty's words or because Nagini was still giving her an even, predatory stare.

'Of course, of course. But if there was something we could do for those dear, brave children, then we'd want to give them our aid, wouldn't we?'

Did they really think her that stupid? Hetty smiled brightly and leant closer as though to confide something. 'We've not heard anything, I assure you.'

'And Madam Boreva? She's well?'

Elisaveta was clutching her tea cup, too pale and thin. Hetty smiled at her and she smiled back. '*_Madam, are you well?*'_

_'*Well enough, dear heart. Well enough.*'_

Nagini was staring more and more intently at Umbridge. /this female tries to stalk us nagini bites her/

Hetty hissed, trying to make it sound a cough. /no/

/nagini doesnt eat just bites this female would taste bad/

'And dear Mr. Krum?'

'Martin has a bit of a headache and won't be down.'

'Of course.'

Uncle Eramus chose that moment to swim back to lucidity. 'Henrietta, who is this woman in my house?'

'Under-secretary Delores Umbridge, Uncle.'

'Under-secretary, is it?'

'Hem hem, yes, sir.'

'Good, good. I wish to register a complaint.'

'What manner of-hem hem, complaint?'

'My best top hat is missing. Does the Ministry know anything about that? It is quite tall, made of black silk, and it came from Zamestra's in Diagon Alley. I paid twenty galleons for it back in 19...1922. That's right, 1922. I remember because...have you taken this down, Madam Carlsforth?'

'Umbridge, Uncle.'

'Of course, my dear. Anyway, that was just before the big route at Deimos Avery's house. A fine fellow, Deimos. Unfortunate, the thing with the redcaps. Still, it was hardly his fault, wasn't it, that he didn't know they were attracted to apricot jam? We had such a problem with the little beasties in those days, couldn't step into my own garden.'

Umbridge nodded politely. 'I will certainly-hem hem-mention it to dear Thorfinn. I don't suppose, sir, you've heard from the children?'

'Children? Never had any, more's the pity. We certainly tried, Clotilde and I, didn't we?'

'I- hem hem- suppose so. I meant Mr. Krum's son and Lestrange's daughter, sir.'

'Them? Oh, no. Terribly nice, but I haven't heard from them in...how long, Hetty?'

'They left the last week in June, Uncle.'

'He owns a unicorn concern in Ceylon, is that right?'

'He's Lord Protector of Bulgaria, Uncle.'

'Of course he is. And his wife is Achilles Lestrange's granddaughter. He was my godson, Achilles. The girl looks quite like his wife about the chin. Do you say so, Madam Grantham?'

'Umbridge, sir. Hem hem, I am related to the Lestranges through my great great cousin Nebuchadnezzar Selwyn.'

'I knew Neb. A good fellow. Rather high-strung, I recall. Cried quite a bit. Well, we've all got our flaws. If you should find that hat for me, Under-secretary, perhaps I shall send it to Martin's lad. A newly-married man gets asked so many places. And he plays Quidditch well, too.'

'If you should hear from them-'

'Not likely, Under-secretary. They do run that unicorn concern, after all. Still, a nice hat will remind him of the mother country, won't it?'

'I daresay.'

/nagini likes Erasmus-human nagini will eat him when he dies/

Hetty's eyes widened at the last bit. Umbridge saw it and pounced at once.

'Something wrong, Madam Feathering?'

Hetty rose. 'I must see to an urgent personal need, excuse me.' She walked with decorous haste for the closest WC, trailed by Nagini, who followed her in and sat so their heads were level.

/hetty-speaker is not sick hetty-speaker makes false words/ she swayed disapprovingly and Hetty snorted.

/nagini can't eat uncle/

/when he is dead/

/no/

/nagini likes erasmus-human nagini honours him by eating his old skin/

/ah/ Hetty decided to fight this particular battle another day.

As they came back in, Erasmus was regaling Umbridge with another of his stories.

'"...so I tied an onion to my belt-which was the style at the time-and set of for Morganshire, which is what we called Sheffield in those days. I first stopped at Honeydukes to procure a gift. In those days, sickles had glumbumbles on them. 'Give me five glums for a galleon, you'd say"...'

Umbridge leapt up at seeing Hetty. 'I've just remembered an appointment in, er, London. I shall be back to see you next week. Good day, all.'

After she'd gone, Hetty looked at Erasmus. 'Uncle?'

'What an utterly tiresome woman. Well, darling, I shall have my rest. If the unicorn boy gets in touch, do tell him we'd like him to return. His father is not...he is not well.'

'I'll tell him, Uncle.'

Hetty felt an insistent tug on her wrist. /nap now then meat then nap again/

The bedroom was pleasantly cool and dark. Hetty let her elf undress her and slipped under the covers. The elves kept the curtains closed on Nagini's request-she found it easier to relax if she was in something that felt like a cave. Hetty snuggled the snake and wished Desmond had not been compelled to go back to Durmstrang.

/hetty-speaker why did the smelly female ask about nagini's human young/

/she wanted to know if we talk to them/

/why would we not/

/master would not like it/

/master knows about young/ There was a questioning edge, and Hetty wished she could switch the topic. But Nagini was single minded, and impossible to lie to.

/master doesnt like viktor-young or hermione-young/

/why/

/too powerful/

/they are young/

Hetty could sense the snake's confusion. She said nothing, hoping Nagini would think her dozing.

/hetty-speaker master sent nagini's young away all of them and edric young too/

/yes/

/little speaker/

Hetty tried not to think about that. She hugged herself tightly. /hetty hopes not/

Unwilling to dwell on that, she made herself breath deeply, and then fell asleep.

Nagini waited until her Hetty-Speaker was breathing evenly to slip out. She didn't especially like Hetty-Speaker alone but there was nothing for it. She slithered down the stairs and out the door kept open for her. She moved through the garden and into the trees.

The woods were lovely, dark and deep. Nagini found a good place and waited for the smaller snakes to come to her, and when they had, she started to explain the situation to them.

**A/N:**

**Ten house points to whomever can identify that 'onion on the belt' story.**

**Nagini, of all...people...quotes Robert Frost.**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black.**

**This chapter directly quotes Shel Silverstein, an American poet and writer. If any of you are not familiar with his work, I strongly urge you to check it out. He was a wise and compassionate observer of human nature. Also, he wrote a poem about a kid with a pet hotdog. What's not to love?**

**The first part of this was inspired by Great Big Sea's 'Chemical Worker's Song'. Scabior's father worked in a large industrial Potions concern, so picture a Dickensian factory, only powered by magic. I really felt my own privilege writing this one, guys.**

Nicolae Pavel was having one of the strangest moments of his life. He was sitting at a desk in a quiet room in a quiet part of the Ministry, and he was teaching a convicted murderer to read.

He'd got back two days earlier, after nearly two weeks as Malfoy Jr. It had been very pleasant. He'd spent time with mother and father, eaten Romanian food, broken his long celibacy, and other enjoyable things.

On coming back, finding out a wolf had nearly killed seventy-eight children (not one of his, at least, but still it burnt in him), he'd been nearly murderously angry. A wolf had undone, through him, so much of the work that wolves like himself strived every day to do. He had reinforced in the minds of humans that wolves were callous predators. Blagoev had been no wolf, but he was the kneazle's paw of a wolf, and that was just as bad.

Nothing for it now, though. Pavel had stored his anger, made his reports, and then set to teaching Scabior. Strictly speaking, Pavel was not actually teaching him basic literacy. Scabior knew his alphabet, after all, and could read short sentences. He professed to be able to write about as well, which was, as far as Pavel could see, roughly fifth-grade level. He had to follow his place with a finger, and when he read, it was aloud.

'Wunce I spoke the lan...lang...'

'Language.'

'Language a flowers, wunce I un'erstood each word the cat...cat'er...pill-uh...sed. Wunce I smiled in secret at the gossip a the starlins, n shared a con...vers..a...shin with the ousefly in my bed.'

Scabior stopped, frowning. 'This is a weird book, it is. 'S'really fer kids?'

'All ages. The author was quite a clever fellow.'

'Must've bin, makin these things up. What else did e do?'

Pavel named a few titles, sensing Scabior was not really asking about Shel Silverstein. Scabior was nodding slowly, clearly chewing things over. 'So yer parents read you this every night?'

'This or something like it.'

'They wasnt scared as it'd gives you ideas?'

'They wanted it to. Ideas aren't bad.'

Scabior was looking at him like he thought he was teasing, or having him on. 'Kin be. S'pose as a bloke reads sumthin above imself. Then what?'

'"Above himself"?'

'Yeah. Like if a bloke oo aint a gen'leman reads sumthing makes im wants t puts on airs?'

'Why shouldn't he aspire to be what he wants to be?'

Scabior looked at him liked he was mad. 'He aints a gen'lemen, though.'

'Why not?'

'Gen'lemen doan work fer a livin, but ave a profession. Like an advocate, or mebbe a medi-wizard. Me father'n'law, e were a gen'lemen. E made buildins. S'why me wife's a lady.'

'Your wife is a lady because she's so kind and polite, I'd say. I've often seen Madam Scabior calm Madam Tamm when she becomes uncomfortable.'

'That, too, but you thinks it jus comes t a person t'act that way, Pavel? When a person's scrabblin after every lil thin, e aint gots the time t be worryin bout bein nice.'

Pavel had never considered it that way. He nodded slowly. 'That's true. Surely there are exceptions.'

'Yeah, course. Sum quality aint nice, is they? Walden Mcnair, now, e's a rite cunt. Always actin like we was stupid, shoutin at people. E called is wife a bitch once, I eard him. Gen'lemen aint actin like that. You think Lestrange'd ever call is missus a name like that?'

Pavel raised an inner eyebrow. He'd faced the Lestranges a time or two in battle, and thought 'bitch' was probably a pretty fair descriptor. She was a shrieking, malignant harpy, and he was a sadist and a killer in cold blood.

It was weird, thinking of their respecting and valuing one another. Did people like that cuddle? Did they talk walks together and kiss? Did they argue about the daily things, like whose turn it was to do some chore? Well, not the last, but the principle was the same. It was disturbing to think of his enemies as having internal lives as rich as his, loves as meaningful. He could see them, but he couldn't see their mothers, their siblings, their small endearing habits. That was the difference, he supposed.

'Lestrange has always struck me as being good to those he cares about. I've seen him stop fighting so he can evacuate the wounded.'

'E'zactly rite. E'd not use a word like that t a lady nor it a child.'

'Mcnair hit his son in front of you? I thought Mcnair Jr was older than yourself.'

'Jus about. An no, e aint it is son. Mcnair Jr's a cunt too, e cut up a girl I knew a lil from before. Fucker.' His face clouded, and Pavel was about to change the subject when Scabior smiled a little.

'No. I known Milady since she was jus a scrap of a thing. She did sumthin naughty wunce and I'm the one took er to er Daddy. He aint it er or nothin, jus took er to their rooms.'

Pavel listened neutrally. It was bizarre to think of the controlled, pleasant, utterly merciless Vicereine as a naughty little girl, and even stranger that it could only have been, what, three or four years earlier? Warped, he thought, this whole thing is an abomination.

Moreover, it was interesting to him that Scabior had casually pointed out that Lestrange had not battered her. Pavel's family had had the occasional coldly polite dinner or slammed door, but his parents had never so much as swatted his wrist.

Of course he knew some people beat children. He also knew the planet Mars existed without having been there, but that didn't mean he had ever expected to be confronted with someone taking it for granted, any more than he expected to walk across the surface of Earth's closest neighbour.

'Do English wizards do that? Hit their children?'

'S'like anythin else, sum do an sum doan. Quality people, now, like Lestrange, or Malfoy, they smacks em when they needs it, I'd thinks, but they aint gunna use their fists or give em bruises. Doan yer people, then?'

Shaky ground, this. 'Some do. My parents didn't.'

'Why not?'

'I was a fairly obedient child.'

'Not all the time, then.'

'No, but most muggles-a lot of muggles-they don't think it's all right to ever hit a child.'

Scabior laughed. 'Yer avin me on!' He seemed pleased by it, genuinely sure that Pavel was teasing him. Pavel shook his head immediately.

'No.'

'Well, and that's what wrong with em, isn't it? No offence, I means. Sure yer own people are jus fine, but you looks at them muggles and it makes a man thinks.'

'Oh?'

'Aint you never seen them muggle girls wand'ring about in trousers like men? Or skirts what shows their legs? An at all hours a the night?'

'Yes, of course. What does that-'

Scabior held up a finger. 'An kids wan'drin about makin trouble, an people goin ere and goin there. What gud is that, I asks you? Oo'll elps em if they ave a problem, or make sure they aints up t no gud?'

'Well, the police-aurors. It's their job to make people don't get hurt or do unwise things.'

Scabior laughed again. 'Yeah, awrite. You thinks a bloke like me's gunna calls the aurors for elp?'

'I...why not?'

'They aints fer people like me. They're fer nobs. They works fer em and they do as they're told. People like me ave to shift fer ourselves. An sum a that, Nicolae, is makin sure people knows t do like they're told if the person tellin em is gud.'

'Not abusive, you mean?'

'Yeah, and luves em, and means em well. A parent as to give is kids sumthin to cling to, and sum a that is makin sure they knows what they kin do and what they cant, d'you see?'

Pavel nodded slowly. 'I follow what you're saying.'

'You doan agree, though?'

'I'm not convinced I think violence is the answer to problems.'

'Sez the bloke oo ad his own army a wolves?' Scabior was grinning again, and Pavel dipped his head to acknowledge his essential correctness.

'There were political issues there. And none of them were my children.'

'No? You ran things. You told em where t go an what t do. You made sure they stayed in line, yeah?'

'Yes, but-'

'An when one of em acted up, you stopped it?'

'Yes, but it's not-'

'Stopped it ow?'

'It depended. I'd speak to them, or-'

'Whacks em one?'

Pavel snorted helplessly. 'Maybe once or twice.'

'Mebbe?'

'All right, yes, from time to time.'

'So ow's it different, then, except prob'ly you dint takes their puddin after?'

'No, it's a bad idea to take a werewolf's pudding. We're a sweets-loving people.'

'Yeah? So Eugen'll stop sulkin bout procession days if I gives em a boiled sweet?'

'No, Eugen will never stop sulking. Maybe you should turn him over your knee?' Pavel wondered how Scabior would react to be gently teased back.

'I aint a wolf. You thinks e needs it, go ahead. Tells me ow it turns out, yeah?'

'I have no experience with that sort of thing.'

'Eugen's a gud bloke to starts with. E aint feisty, Eugen. Prob'ly e'd not fights you much. I kin lends you a slipper, if you needs one. Or me wife as a airbrush would work.' He sounded totally serious, leaning forward, face smooth and encouraging.

Pavel couldn't help it. He tried to imagine seriously approaching Eugen Arco with a borrowed slipper to discuss the former's poor attitude on procession days and started to chuckle. Eugen really **wasn't** a very feisty person, and Pavel suspected Scabior was right about starting gently if one meant to start.

Scabior chuckled too. 'E's aint a bad bloke, Eugen.'

'No. He was bitten very young. It scarred him.'

'Appens, that does. Still, you sees what I means? They're whackin' and there's urtin. I'd never urt Eugen, but does e needs a clip on the ear now an agin? Yeah.'

'Verbally?'

'Sorry?'

'Out loud?'

'S'far. If e aint a wolf, I'd a dun it by now.'

'Wouldn't it be just as effective to talk about it instead?'

'Naw. Sumtimes, mebbe, but sumtimes a person needs t be reminded e aint so big as e thinks e is. Ard smackin reminds im e needs t listen and be gud. Mos'ly.'

'Even for adults?'

'Same idea. Bloke steps outta line, I swots im back t where e needs to be. Yeah?'

'A struggle for dominance, you mean.'

'S'pose so. Wunce e understands, e doan try no more an we can makes things appen, yeah? Family's the same.'

Pavel had a mental imagine of growling at one of his parents in order to be allowed to borrow the car when he was younger and snorted helplessly. His parents would have been concerned, at least, to say nothing of wrestling over who got the biggest pork chop at dinner or snapping to see who used the shower whilst the hot water was full. Staring contests to have the last piece of cake...marking territory to decide whose armchair belonged to whom...

'Not for werewolves.'

'Pssh' said Scabior, clearly enjoying himself. 'You sed as much. Eugen's a gud boy but e needs a firm and from time t time. You tellin me as e'd be appier not t ave that?'

'Eugen? No, probably not. But the others don't necessarily want that.'

'Because they aint never ad it. You ever ave an urge t eat a pig ead in vinegar with sum taters?'

'Potatoes?'

'Yeah, and ard white cheese?'

'I can't say I do.' Pig's head? Pavel was a pretty adventurous eater and had had his share of foods that would make most people turn their noses up, but he found himself a touch queasy at the idea of eating something that had a face.

'I do. You aint never ad one, so you doan. Mebbe you'd like it if you tried.'

'Maybe.'

Scabior checked his pocket watch. 'I gots to see if Milord needs things checked. You gunna come?'

Pavel did. He handed the book to Scabior and they walked peaceably through the corridors. Every so often a dog would accost them to sniff them and chuff for a treat from Scabior's bottomless waistcoat pocket.

Krum's Bess fell in beside them, and walked beside them, sometimes barking to hail a brother or sister. Beautiful, well-trained dogs, their good breeding evident. Pavel stroked her back and got a friendly head-bump in return. From outside Goose ran at them, barking excitement-come and play!

'Mister Tamm's ere, then. Gud, e's a rite elp.'

'He seems a very clever boy. He was asking me about Romania yesterday.'

'Yeah?'

'He's from a mountainous region and wanted to hear about the Carpathians.'

'Did you tell im?'

'I've only been twice, so what I know. A pretty place, but I prefer cities.'

'I doan. Dirty, nasty places with too much crime.'

'Where are you from? London?'

'Hmm mmm. Lil city called-' Pavel had never heard of it, but he nodded. Scabior waved to the wolves currently walking the rounds and they waved straight back, cheerfully greeting both their leaders before they went back to arguing about Quidditch.

'Where is that?'

''S'more toward the North. Awful place, nothin but factories far as the eye kin see, and all of em putting out smoke and dust all ours a the dan an night. Used to go an elp me Da at his job. Come ome all grey with dust.'

'Was that even legal?'

'Naw, but e wanted the money. An it was summer.'

Pavel wondered what that would be like, a childhood spent in oily clouds of coal dust, the stink of the factory on everything, making money for a father who'd brutalised him regularly for as long as he could remember. When that was normal, what was abnormal? Did normal even mean anything?

'Lestrange, now, e aint like that. I werked fer him because I could tell rite off, e aint the type. Never once eard im raise is voice, you know.'

'He seems quite soft-spoken.'

'E is, e is. But it aint-plenty a blokes aint quiet, but they aint bad. Goyle, now, e yells like e breaths, but e's got a real soft eart.'

The name was a vague memory of a hulking, masked figure in a field in Wales, bellowing orders and oaths as he fearlessly led his troops toward the wolves, mowing down all opposition.

'He's very tall, right?'

'That's im.'

'He led that offensive at Snowdon, I think.'

'Shure did. Ard bloke, is Goyle.'

'We ended up retreating, so I'm apt to agree.'

Both men walked a bit more in companionable quiet. until they got to the office, and thereafter were disquieted most thoroughly.

They weren't the only ones. The letters had come in the wee hours, and so Hermione had read them aloud to Viktor as they lay in bed. He was eating fruit, and would sometimes offer her a bit of plum or peach as they mulled over what was being said.

Mostly it was family things. Letters from Mother and Father, letters for Draco, Barty and Edric (which they didn't open, and which, still sealed, were delivered to their respective owners to be read at pleasure). The aunts and uncles had also written, and they spent nearly an hour listening to news and bits of gossip.

_'Aunt Hetty sounds vell_.' They were practicing English again, which was good. They were also practicing Bulgarian, which was somewhat less ideal, but, as she was willing to admit, necessary.

_'She does. I'd rather she was here, but it's not so bad at Feathering_.'

_'It is kind of her to vatch the others. I vorry about Grandmama now.'_

_'I do too. At least Aunt is there to keep her company.'_

_'Yes, and Uncle Erasmus. He is a nice fellow.'_

_'Yes, he is. He was Aunt Cunegarde's brother in law.'_

_'Maybe she vill marry again.' _His eyes were sparkling with mischief, and Hermione rolled her own, pretending not to be amused.

_'That's all we need. We could send wolves as wedding gifts.'_

Viktor frowned, as though considering. _'Vill they stand still enough for us to vrap, you think? Arco, maybe, but the others? No.'_

_'Sandru might.'_

_'Mmm, perhaps, but then ve have no guards for Castle Borev.'_

_'Elves.'_

_'Elves, yes. Norry is getting on vell.'_

Hermione nodded once. Norry was an emotional wreck, and none too bright, but she couldn't help but pity him.

_'Herm-on-nee-knee?'_

_'I'm all right. Just thinking.'_

_'About Norry?'_

_'Actually, yes. He's not bright.'_

_'No, not at all. But nor is he bad, I think.'_

Norry, like Winky, tended to trail one like a ghost, sniffling, unless set to a task, which he would then attack with fanatical energy until it was done, or until one called him off.

_'He's been poorly used.'_

_'Vhat should we do vith him, though? He can't vork in the kitchens.'_

_'No. He's been helping Kreacher.'_

Viktor snorted. _'Yes, he loves it. I think Kreacher vill start to' _he mimed spitting _'in our coffee, if ve don't find something for Norry to do.'_

They debated the issue a bit longer and came to no firm consensus. Setting aside the dim-witted if essentially unmalicious Norry, Hermione slit the seal of Snape's letter and read it aloud.

After, they sat in numb silence, studying each other. Hermione finally broke the silence.

_'What do you think?'_

_'I think it is terrible, and ve must do it.'_

She leant against him, comforted by his warmth and the solidness of his body under hers. Her hand was shaking violently and she grimaced, trying to still it through sheer force of will. She failed.

_'We need to be sure he understands that he can say no.'_

_'He vill not say no, love. You know and I know that.'_

_'Yes. But we have to give him that choice.'_

Viktor's arms went about her. He smelt like their bed, like warm bodies and soap and home. _'It is hard, to do this to Anu.'_

_'Nothing will happen.'_

_'Slughorn is sly. Crafty, is that a word?'_

_'It is. So are we.' _

She felt very cool and very sure of herself-sure of them. No one would hurt Anu because they'd be sure they didn't. Just as she had when they'd decided to poison Blagoev, she felt a sort of cold clarity about things, a sense that she could make things happen.

_'You have a plan?'_

_'Not precisely. At first we can send Rita in bug form. That will help.'_

_'Until she goes back. Then vhat?'_

Hermione frowned, brow furrowing. She snuggled back against her husband.

_'We'll figure something out, I'm sure.'_

_'I hope so. This is...disgusting?'_

_'A lot of the things we do are. _'

Hermione didn't want to worry about this. She didn't. She wanted things to be, if not easy or clear, than not so muddy as to obscure her sight.

_'I struggle vith it, Herm-on-nee-knee.'_

She hadn't told Viktor about her conversation with Alise, not wishing to burden him any more than he was already. The small threads of silver in his hair were getting a bit denser. Not terrible, and his uncle had admittedly gone silver very early in life, but still, it felt to her like she could map his stress through it.

_'You?'_

_'Sometimes. We aren't... I wonder if we're still good people, sometimes. I helped Scabior torture that man, Viktor.'_

_'Mmm hmm. And if you had not, I vould have. Or Drago. Or Paavo.'_

_'It felt good. I wanted to hurt him.'_

_'Vhy? I mean, vhat vas your motive in it?'_

_'I was angry. He almost killed the children, and Alise, and Barty, and Anu. They could have died. He was just lying there, and it...it felt good to make him suffer.'_

Viktor put his arms round her and rocked gently. _'Shhhh.'_

_'No, it's not right! I wanted to hurt him!' _She snuggled against him, feeling terribly afraid of herself. Was this how Father and Mother felt that night? Is that what made them hurt those people?

_'I don't want to turn out like them!'_

_'Your parents?'_

_'I love them so much but they did an awful thing, and Barty too!'_

Viktor said nothing a long time. Then he bent and kissed the top of her head gently. _'Shhh.'_

_'Doesn't it bother you, knowing I could do a thing like that?'_

_'Herm-on-nee-knee, stop it vright now._'

Hermione was so startled by his tone that she did it, looking at him in surprise. Viktor sometimes used that tone with others, but never with her. Ever.

He swished to restore the translation wards and then gently cupped her chin, stroking her cheek as he talked.

'You know better than that.'

'I didn't-'

'Don't you?'

She nodded. 'I can feel it in me.'

'Dark magic?'

'Yes. It's in my blood. When Scabior was hitting him, I wanted to-to do things to him.'

'But you didn't.'

'I don't know how.'

'Yes, you do. You're smart, Hermione. If you wanted to find a way, you would have, and no one could have stopped you. You don't know the academic things, but you know enough to hurt someone if you want to.'

'It's not the same.'

'Why not?'

'It isn't. It's like-when I do magic, it's there, waiting. Like a voice that tells me it can teach me things if I'll let it. It feels right to me.'

'You've resisted this far.'

'So did my parents. Then one day they just snapped and hurt those aurors.'

'That doesn't mean you will. My father became unhinged and abandoned us. Do you plan against the day I'll do the same?'

She sat up, eyes wide. 'You know I don't!'

'Then why would I assume that of you?'

Hermione felt comforted and nettled by his logic. She settled back again, huffing her annoyance. 'You're as bad as Professor Snape.'

'I don't have his fashion sense.'

'Or hair.'

'Or hair. Do you feel better?'

'A bit. Some of it is just something to deal with, is all.'

'That's true. Together.'

'Together.' She rested her head on his chest and felt safe, felt like she was home. There was no Dark magic here, no tortured aurors, no future, no past. Just the two of them, alive and together, and that was enough.

Hours later, she still felt that way. It was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. Not the hardest, by a long shot, but hard all the same, and harder because she knew Anu wouldn't refuse them. How free was he? How free were any of them now?

Hermione took Aunt Sose's hand, which was clammy. Aunt Sose's eyes were wide, and she was darting scared little looks at the men across the room. In contrast, Anu seemed quite relaxed, standing next to Draco quietly.

'Aunt Sose, if you aren't comfortable with this, we'll find another way.'

She shook her head weakly, throat working a little. 'What way is there? We need...the war is coming.'

'Yes, it is. But this could be done differently if you aren't all right with it.'

Anu stood up and came to kneel next to his mother's leg. 'It'll be all right, Nene. I just have to go and talk to Slughorn.'

'He's a bad man.'

'So are we-well, not men, some of us-if we don't stop it.'

Aunt Sose touched his hair gently. 'Be careful, Anu.'

'Always am.'

She looked sceptical, and gently touched the string to his eye-patch. Anu ducked his head, blushing a bit. 'That was different.'

'You promise he'll be safe?' She was looking at either Viktor or Draco quite boldly. They both nodded at once, and Aunt Sose sighed deeply.

'After this conference?'

'During, probably. He'll think we're distracted by it, ideally.'

Sirius cleared his throat. 'Madam Tamm, I could always accompany your son. As Salazar, I mean. Along with Madam Skeeter.'

'You won't be here all the time, Sirius.' That from Draco, who nevertheless looked encouraged. Hermione suspected he liked this idea no better than she did, or Viktor.

'No, but enough. If it all goes according to plan, I'll just nap on the carpet all night. If not...'

'Yes! I mean, that would be good. If you don't mind.'

'I don't mind.'

Hermione gave her cousin a grateful smile and Sirius winked. He looked quite like Aunt Walburga at these moments, in the best way. Hermione resolved to commend him to his mother and then pressed onward. 'So we're decided?'

They were. The meeting broke up and Hermione sat down, head in her hands, eyes throbbing from the build-up of pressure she hadn't noticed until just then.

'Milady' said a voice from above her, if only just 'mebbe you n me cud takes a walk if yer ups to it?'

She was, and with a word to her husband, followed Scabior, with Kreacher in tow.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black**

**I've always thought one of the themes of this story is 'who is a parent?' There was pretty awesome parenting going on here. And some that definitely isn't-I'm with Sose on this one.**

**Also, I borrowed a phrase from a review. Special thanks to A. Deca for providing the inspiration.**

**Finally, ten house points to WetOtterSoks for correctly identifying the quote in chapter 27, which is indeed from 'The Simpsons'. **

The day the ministers arrive, Sose downed the contents of the phial and was slightly surprised for a moment to feel a small hand fit into hers. She turned, setting the phial down, and found Yana looking up at her, frowning anxiously. She was getting taller, and her face was changing, becoming more like an adult's.

'Nene, are you sad?'

'Sad? No. No, I'm all right.'

Yana was hugging her, suddenly. Sose sat down and eased the girl into her lap. Her bones creaked protest-she was taking three phials of heavy-duty bone strengtheners a day, and whilst it did help, her body was far from pain-free, even now.

Yana snuggled back against her, dressed up in her best clothes, blonde hair shining. She was very excited about helping host the Ministers-five total, and their retinues, who would be staying with them.

'Are you sad, Yana?'

Yana considered, frowning a little. 'Not if there isn't going to be more poison. Is there going to be more, do you think?'

'No. No more poison, Yana.'

'How do you know?'

'The elves'll watch for us. And the others-Scabior and Paavo and Enver.'

'Oh. Didn't they watch before?'

'They did. Some people are sneaky.'

Yana nodded. 'Stefan Borev was sneaky like that.'

Sose nodded. That was the man who'd tried to blind her son. Yana snuggled against her, playing with her apron a little.

'That's why he died. He was sneaky and bad. He came when Aunt Zhivka was sick. He smelt funny and Viktor was angry with him.'

'It must have been hard for your family.'

Yana was still playing with her apron. ' It was scary that Aunt Zhivka didn't come back for a long time. Then she did. We brought flowers, and climbed in bed with her. She was asleep because a bad man hurt her brain.'

Sose's anxiety wasn't exactly improved by this line of conversation, but she loved Yana, and would have liked to have known poor Zhivka. She herself, having a son not much younger than Viktor, sympathised with how it must have been to need to leave him. Still, surely Zhivka would want Sose to reassure her niece, and it was the least she could do.

'She must have been glad you came to see her.'

'Viktor said that, too. It wasn't scary. She was asleep, was all. Rada is asleep because that bad man hurt her brain. Will she die like Aunt Zhivka?'

Sose rubbed her back. 'I don't know, Yana. It's not up to us.'

'Did the bad man who hurt my aunt hurt Rada?'

'No. This one was different.'

'Oh.' Yana looked up at her with complete trust. 'But this one can't hurt us anymore, either?'

'No.'

'He died like Stefan did.'

'That's right.'

Yana nodded and rested her head on Sose's shoulder. 'We're going to have a good time, Nene, with these people. Viktor says they want to be our friends, just like Toma and Svetlana and Zenobia. Everyone is going to be nice and we'll have fun.'

'Yes.'

'If they're nasty, we'll tell Viktor and then they'll have to go talk to him. Or my Papa will scold them. All right?'

Sose smiled a little. 'I know. Everything is all right.'

Anu came in and announced the carriages had been sighted. Yana leapt up and joined him. Sose, scared to death, went with her small family, reminding herself that anyone who was unkind could expect a scolding from the Lord Protector of Bulgaria.

Hours later, she was starting to relax. Everyone had been perfectly polite to her, Anu was delighted to see Ismaili, who was Viktor's liaison with Tirana, and Ismaili's parents were very nice too. The Vatas had also come, so they'd all got to know one another a little.

The Estonians, Turks and Egyptians were also staying there. Normally Sose would have nearly unable to move, but she felt safe enough with the others. Vaike never left her side, nor Yana, and Sirius-Salazar was always close enough that should she cry out someone would be there.

Barty would be her shadow as well, later on. He needed to be kept away from the Ministers, so he was spending his days with Lyudmilla's father, who liked company, and his nights in the castle as a chaperone. Sose had made some sweets as thanks for Lyudmilla's father and then spent three days in an agony of doubt. Had she overstepped her bounds? Had she been too forward?

Nothing had happened aside from the fellow's thanks, so it was probably all right. Sose was certainly fond of Barty, but he could be a bit overwhelming from time to time. She rose, looking at Yana, who was lying on her belly on the bearskin rug, drawing a picture.

'Yana? I'd like some fresh air.'

'Should I come?'

Sose shook her head no. 'It's almost bedtime. Vaike will come in soon, all right?'

'Be careful, Nene.' Yana went back to his picture, narrating her art to Goose, who snuffled appreciatively. He wasn't smart, but no one could say Goose wasn't supportive.

The night air was warm and sweet, caressing her skin. Sirius-Salazar trotted a distance away, sometimes stopping to greet a wolf or sniff something. Sose didn't mind waiting. It was comforting to her that he seemed willing to respect her fear. She followed Sirius-Salazar out a side door and onto a battlement, thinking of nothing in particular.

She didn't hear him approach. She saw Sirius-Salazar tense and then there he was, clearing his throat a shade awkwardly. 'Madam Tamm?'

She took a step back, fear flooding her mouth. Sirius-Salazar growled deep in his belly.

'Please, I just want to talk to you. Please.'

She nodded slowly. 'You stay there.'

'I will. I, er, wanted to tell you how sorry I am.'

His eyes were very dark, almost black, and extremely familiar to her. She'd looked into ones just like them every day for years. She flashed on her son's birth, and seeing him open his eyes, eyes just like the ones on the man standing across from her.

'Oh.'

'He's a good boy. Your son.'

'Yes.'

'I regret-if things were different-I'm married now. We have children too.'

'Oh.'

'Pojani was nice to him?'

'He was. Nice to him.' Her heart was hammering but she knew he couldn't hurt her, not here. She had a wand. She wasn't fifteen.

'I'm glad to see you're doing well.'

'Thank you.'

'If there's anything I might do-'

'No.'

He took a step closer and Sirius-Salazar growled sharply, fur rising. He started to crouch, as though he meant to spring. The man took a step back, whitening. Sose touched the animagus's back to tell him not to jump.

'You gave him Durmstrang.'

'If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to talk to hi-'

'You stay away from my son!' Her wand was in her hand and she was pointing it at someone for the first time, not in practice or play but in serious threat. He took another step back.

'I didn't mean to upset-'

'You made your choices.'

'I'm his fa-'

'**No**.'

The man nodded. He bowed, one eye on the tense dog near Sose's leg, and then departed. She sat down, shaking, heedless of her clothes. Sirius-Salazar sat a distance away, sitting so he wasn't quite looking at her.

Sose watched as the man who had fathered Anu-but not Anu's father-vanished into the night. She closed her eyes, breathing hard, and then opened them again.

'Don't tell Anu. Please.'

Sirius-Salazar bowed and then sat, back to her, and together they looked at the stars.

The next day, another pair of companions was stealing a quiet moment of their own. Draco bent his head, gently suckling at Vaike's lower lip. She sighed and her hand gently caressed his face as they broke apart. Her eyes, damp with pleasure, gazed at him. Then she straightened his tunic and said 'Is the French Minister half the bastard they say he is?'

'Worse. He was outright rude to us during the Cup.'

'Hermione's said he's a snob.'

'That's accurate. And he thinks he's smarter than the rest of us.'

Vaike shoved her own robes, which had been slightly mussed, back into position. 'I daresay this week will teach him a little respect.'

Draco sat on a bench. He had an absolutely raging erection, but fortunately he'd had the foresight to charm his trousers so it didn't show. She sat down next to him and nestled into his shoulder, sighing softly.

'Everything is set from your end?'

'When I left Castle Borev, the Egyptians were playing music for everyone and serving mint tea. I think it's a start.'

Draco nodded. 'A lot of them will be scared not to join, I think.'

'Probably. Once they see them, that will sway some of the others. Pavel's got them ready?'

Draco had seen them, all in matching tunics, ranks of them stretched as far as the eye could see, moving in precise lockstep. It was terrifying, those thousands of blank faces, those endless dark eyes that gave nothing.

'Yes. He's told me something, Vaike. He found them.'

'The wolves?'

'The ones who are alive. A lot of them aren't.'

'Where are they?'

Draco took her hand. 'Most of that band went to ground in the Sinimaed Hills. The ones that didn't crossed in Russia. We might never be able to get them back, but there's no reason we couldn't go after the ones in Estonia.'

'Assuming the Minister agrees.' Her mouth quirked a little. Draco suspected the Kasks had won this particular victory with something other than pure diplomacy and heartily approved of it.

'You think he will?'

'I think he will. The papers at home are talking about it in glowing terms.'

Draco pressed his face gently into her neck, smelling a little talc. 'They ought to. It's going to be brilliant.'

Vaike reached up and gently smoothed his hair. 'Drago?'

'Hmmm?'

'When we go after them, do you want to come?'

He opened his eyes. 'Wouldn't miss it.'

'Good.' She sounded contented, like a cat. They were quiet a few minutes more, and then, on silent agreement, rose to go fight today's battles.

On the whole, Draco preferred the sorts of fights that meant hexes and fire. It wasn't as safe, to be sure, but at least it wasn't this stifling, hypocritical farce. With Vaike on his arm, he was making the rounds after Hermione and Viktor, bowing, kissing the cheeks of ladies and watching as well-groomed men old enough to his father, or grandfather, kissed Vaike and complimented her. Draco smiled quite a bit but said little. The last few years had taught him to keep his own counsel, and so he bided, waiting, watching, ready to do his bit.

He smelt Morreau before he saw him. The men was as aggressively cologned and pomaded as before, wearing pin-striped robes and a red silk cravat that set Draco's teeth on edge for no real reason. He bowed, smiling a little.

'Mr. Malfoy.'

'Minister Morreau.'

Draco was glad Vaike had gone to help Alise with a problem in the kitchens. He didn't want his slick git anywhere near his girl, thank you. He smiled a little, wondering what he was supposed to do now. Grandfather, please...

'The Traitorsbane. That's what they call you now, isn't it?'

'Not to my face, typically.'

'No? It's quite a name for a fellow your age.'

'I suppose so.' Draco wanted to hiss between his teeth at the man. There was something antagonistic in his manner, something that Draco couldn't quite name that nevertheless made him want to spit.

'These Slavs, quite an...imaginative people. Something almost Homeric about it. Bronze age.'

Draco's hands were clenching. 'If my lord cousin is the new Achilles, then I for one would rather be at his side than in his path.'

'Achilles? I thought it was Alexander.'

'Alexander was part of the Hellenic age, not the Bronze age.'

This seemed to amuse, rather than offend, Morreau. 'I see you've been well-taught, Mr. Malfoy. Tell me, did your sojourn in December cause you any undue strain in resuming your schoolwork?'

'Practical experience is the best teacher.'

'Is that what you told the parents of the ones less fortunate than yourself?'

Draco's chest was tight, his throat choked with rage, his mouth like cotton, his back wet with perspiration. He could feel his knees shaking with rage, his nails drawing blood on his palms.

'I told them truth.'

'What truth would that be? Did the little story about the new Achilles-excuse me, Alexander-comfort them in their grief?'

'The accounts of their children's courage did that.'

'How nice to know their children died bravely. Except, of course, that they died.'

Draco's world was spinning. He was dizzy, stomach a tight little walnut inside him. He took a deep breath and made himself shove forward.

'Would you denigrate their sacrifice?'

'Would you justify it?'

Draco dropped his voice. 'If you need ask that, it would a waste of my time to reply. Good day, Minister.'

Anu must have seen the confrontation, because he ducked out right behind Draco, holding Sirius-Salazar's leash. Anu let him go and the dog trotted after as the younger lad went back into the reception room. Draco took up the leash and led his cousin to a deserted room, sinking into a chair just as his legs went loose.

Sirius changed back and warded the door. 'Kiddo, what's wrong?'

Draco shook his head. 'Fuck fuck fuck!'

Kreacher abruptly appeared above them, holding a phial of calming draught. Draco downed it with hands shaking so hard the potion was slopping. Kreacher silently vanished the stains.

'What did he say, Draco?'

'He was mocking Viktor and then he started asking me about what happened in December.' Draco repeated the conversation, and Sirius's eyes widened.

'He actually said that?'

'I'm going to break his fucking jaw for this.'

'No, kid. You're going to calm down, and then we're going to put the screws to that bastard.'

'You don't understand-'

Sirius laughed bitterly. 'No? I went to Azkaban because I went off half-cocked. From the bottom of my heart, kiddo, I'm telling you not to do this. I swear we'll get him, all right? But not like this.'

Draco nodded. The massive influx of adrenaline was making him tired and trembly all over. 'Sorry. Sorry.'

'Don't be. He was trying to set you off. You did just the right thing.'

'I should go back. We should, I mean.'

'They've got it for right now. Aside from Morreau, how are you doing?'

That was a complicated question. Draco put his head in his hands for a moment. Father had given him a bottle of his cologne before he left, and Draco could smell the warm, comforting scent of it on himself.

'It's hard.'

'I'm sure.'

'You know, I just keep thinking...it wasn't suppose to be like this. It was supposed to be **good**.'

Sirius made a low sound that was almost a laugh and almost a groan. 'Tell me about it.'

Draco was tempted to ask, but he could sense this was painful, and that he was not the only one who hurt at the thought. So instead he waited a moment, for whatever ill shadow had passed over his cousin's mind, and said casually 'It was kind of you to offer to go with Anu.'

'He's a good kid. This thing with Slughorn makes me want to puke.'

Draco snorted, startled by his vulgarity, but not too. 'Me, too. He's absolutely creepy, even without...'

'I'll bet he is. You've spoken to him about it? Anu?'

Draco had. 'Twice. And Uncle Penko as well, just to be sure. He understands what he's up against. And the Skeeter woman will be here for some of it. She's not respectable, but she wouldn't let a child get hurt, I don't think.'

'Nor I. And she's a damned sight more respectable than half those people in the reception room.'

'She's Traver's mistress.'

'So?'

Draco blinked. It seemed obvious to him that nice women didn't do that. 'Sirius?'

'Kiddo, half of what caused this whole problem-and I don't mean you-is that kind of thinking. It's ridiculous to think that someone like that Skeeter woman is worse than someone like Alecto Carrow because Rita and Travers swive from time to time.'

'I didn't say worse.'

'No, you didn't. Which of them is a better person, from what you can see?'

'It's not that I think that Alecto's a good person, Sirius.'

'I know. It's just something to think about, is all.'

Draco wasn't exactly clear on where this had come from. 'I didn't mean to offend you.'

'You didn't, kid. It's just-this is fucked up.'

'This thing with Slughorn, you mean.'

'All of it. Our society set this situation up and now we get to clean the mess. I'll help you-all of you-to my dying breath, but I'm angry as hell any of us are in this position.'

Draco exhaled. 'So am I, sometimes.'

'I'll bet you are. Are you feeling all right otherwise? I know you weren't feeling well last month.'

'I talked to Father about it. He said it was normal to be upset sometimes.'

'It is, kiddo. Doesn't mean you have to suffer alone, does it?'

'Is there some manual a person gets at seventeen?' Draco frowned a little, prompting Sirius to snort appreciatively.

'I'd tell you but then I'd have to Obliviate you.'

Draco smiled but felt his mind drifting to more serious matters. 'When I was little, Father used to tell me stories about things. The first war. He always made it sound...fun. And clean. Like there were good people and bad people, and it was easy to tell them apart. I thought I was a bad son because my first battle didn't feel like that.'

'At Lestrange House?'

'No, the Ministry. The wolves were everywhere, and Viktor grabbed me and dragged me with him. I saw Aunt Zhivka and her head was stoved in on one side. There was a puddle of blood and brains on the floor.'

'I'm sorry, kiddo.'

'I hated it. Scabior had that fucking knife out and he was cutting their throats, and none of it felt good to me. I was a failure as a Death Eater, I thought, because I felt sorry for them.'

'It's all right, Draco.'

'No. Because now I don't. Something changed. When we planned to do that Blagoev, it didn't bother me, knowing what was going to happen.'

'Would it have been different if they'd executed him the normal way, do you think?'

'I suppose not. But it felt a kind of turning point to me.'

'How so?'

Draco spread his hands. 'Because that was something we did. We'd have asked Snape or one of the uncles before. We didn't, this time.'

Sirius had not sat in that meeting. He'd been checking Castle Krum and Castle Borev to be sure that there were no threats lingering. He said nothing, just looked at Draco with calm, unjudging eyes.

'Do you regret it?'

'Blagoev had to die, Sirius. There was no other way.'

'Do you regret it?'

Draco bit his lip a second. 'I'm not sorry he's dead. He almost killed all those kids, and Barty, and Madam Scabior. But I wish we hadn't had to do it. It wasn't like the fighting during the war. It felt...'

'Dirty?'

'Rather, but it was a relief, too. Once it was said.'

'Whose idea was it?'

'All of ours.'

Draco had decided he would never say. They'd all agreed to it, and when he died, when he stood before the his ancestors and recited his sins, he would take part of the blame for it, and if it condemned him to the Great Wastes for a few lifetimes, well, that was that. The time to protest would have been that night.

Sirius tipped his head a little. 'You swore an oath?'

'No. It would be unfair for me to tell tales out of school, is all.'

'All right. I'm not going to push you.'

'I know. I appreciate it.'

Sirius squeezed his shoulder. 'How are the others dealing with it?'

Draco swallowed. 'I worry about Hermione sometimes.'

'Why?'

'You saw her with Blagoev, Sirius.'

'I did.'

'It was like she had-'

'Done this before?'

Sirius had a knack for getting to the heart of things that Draco found comforting. He flashed on the meeting they'd had the night before the thing with Blagoev, all of them sitting about the table. The relief of it, when someone said it aloud, all of them nodding as the plan took form. They understood how it was now, the way their world was.

'Yes.'

Sirius nodded, eyes closed. 'When people say how like your parents you and she are, Draco, they don't necessarily mean physically.'

Draco's eyes widened a little. 'Oh.' He didn't know how he felt about that. He loved Father and Mother dearly, but he wasn't sure how he felt about his own resemblance to Father. Physically, of course, but he couldn't reconcile his own blood-soaked reputation with Father's kindness and affection toward him and everyone else that Draco knew of. Then again, they did call Father the Butcher of Britain.

'Sirius? Do you suppose those stories about my father are true?'

Sirius was quiet. 'Which ones, Draco?'

'Any of them.'

'That's a very complicated question.'

'I have time.'

Sirius pursed his lips briefly. 'This is what I know about it, kiddo...'

Rita Skeeter was almost ready. Almost. She was standing next to Tamm, waiting to change into her bug form. Tamm squared his shoulders and inhaled deeply. 'I'm ready, Madam Skeeter.'

She looked round and then bent her head down. 'May I give you some advice, Mr. Tamm?'

'Please do.'

'If anything should happen, remember to aim for the eyes and knees. Or the groin, if you can. The nose is vulnerable. Use the heel of your hand like this' she mimed a blow 'and then run.'

Tamm considered gravely. 'If I need to. Hopefully I won't. He wouldn't talk then, I think.'

He held out a finger, and Rita changed into her beetle form. He tucked her carefully into a pocket, and then, with Sirius Black as Salazar and a wolf to escort them, went into the lion's den to try and make sense of what had happened sixty years earlier.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Love to reviewers, Countess Black and signofthetimes**

**Anu quotes Monty Python at one point.**

**NB: 'Pasha' means lord. There doesn't seem to be a female equivalent, so I'm using it as a gender-neutral term even though I'm sure that's incorrect. Mea Culpa.**

**NBII: The house in the rose valley is not translation charmed, so everyone uses individual ones.**

Vaike could tell where this was going when Viktor put down his coffee cup and raised one of his impressive brows, mouth quirked like he was trying not to smile a little. 'He said what? Bronze-aged?'

'He did also say Homeric. That's rather an unusual feather for your cap, Viktor.'

'How comforting, Drago. Anu?'

Anu put down his own coffee cup. 'Viktor?'

'Do you remember how to conjure snow?'

'Nix, isn't it?'

'That's right.'

'Why do you ask?'

'After we've eaten, pelt Drago with some, won't you?'

Anu shook his head seriously. 'He'll roll me in it, and he has diplomatic immunity.'

'Enver, would you check the precedents for that, please?'

Vata snorted. 'I'll get right to it, Krum.'

'See that you do.'

Vaike caught Drago's eye. He grinned, winking, and she winked back. Paavo, on her other side, scowled. 'Stop it, the both of you.'

'Paavo, don't be an arse.'

'Stop giving each other those sickening looks, then. It's obscene.'

'It's not obscene, you're just a pillock.'

'I'm protecting you. And have you considered the effect this license is having on poor Tamm? Look, you're debauching him.'

'They aren't debauching me.'

'Quiet, Tamm. I'll tell you when you've been debauched and when you haven't.'

'Paavo, I'm betrothed and you aren't. Maybe you should leave so it won't debauch you.'

Drago laughed. 'Well done, Anu.'

'Indeed no. After we eat, I'm rolling you in snow to teach you some respect for your elders.'

'Viktor, does Paavo have diplomatic immunity?'

'He does not.' Viktor calmly drank a bit more coffee, face blank. Vaike laughed helplessly and then poked her twin in the side.

'I'd stop. Anu looks as though he's going to get you.'

'I should like to see him try.'

Paavo gave Anu a fierce look, which Anu returned. Then his face split into a grin and he went back to his coffee. Paavo ruffled his hair and, having ribbed Anu adequately for the moment, was back to business.

'So, Morreau.'

'Morreau.'

Hermione's hand was shaking a little, sending drops of yoghurt plopping onto the table. Her ancient English elf appeared, Norry in tow, and cleaned it at once, but Vaike could see the flush in her cheeks as she talked.

'Any ideas?'

'Obviously, we need to be concerned about whether he intends to sway the others.'

'Do you think the French position holds that much sway?'

It was a little disconcerting to Vaike how quickly they could go from joking and playing to heads of state. Beside Hermione, Alise was speaking rapidly to the elf, who returned with Scabior. Scabior made Vaike's skin crawl sometimes. He was never anything less than proper and polite, but his eyes were hard, and she'd seen him finish the wounded during the battle at the Ministry. What kind of wizard cut throats when magic could do it quickly and painlessly?

'In Eastern Europe? No, probably not. Vaike? Enver? Luan?' Ismaili had come from Castle Borev to help out. He drank a little tea and seemed to reflect.

'Albania wants this, Krum. France is France, but Bulgaria can crush us and we know it. Enver? Anu?'

Enver Vata sighed deeply. 'What can France give the others that Bulgaria can't?'

Hermione answered. 'Cachet. I'm not sure how the other countries perceive us, but France definitely has the edge.'

'That could work against them. If it gets out that Morreau is anti-Slav, that might diminish his lustre a bit for the others.'

'The problem' said Viktor slowly 'is that we can't eat our cake and have it too. If we emphasis our military capability, then France can use that to point out to the countries who might not feel sure about us that we're essentially living their worst expectations. If we do the opposite, we run the risk of alienating countries that want to join us for those same reasons, or who like the shared Slavicness. Does that make sense?'

Nods. 'Even the ones that aren't Slavs will want to see respect for the ancestral culture. It's the principle.' Ismaili spoke very rarely, and had, so far as Vaike could see, no sense of humour at all.

'So we have to show them we're a modern country whilst also showing them how much we respect ancestral traditions? Oh, all right. What shall we do after lunch?'

'Drago!'

'Vaike!'

'Stop it, the both of you! I see that look!'

'Paavo!'

Hermione was giggling. 'Really, all of you.'

'They started it!'

'We did no such thing!'

'Help help, I'm being debauched!'

Now everyone was laughing again. Even Bess was chuffing, and the orange cat put up his fluffy head and blatted, either to join in or tell them all to shut up. It was hard to say with him.

Viktor cleared his throat. 'Now, Paavo, if you don't stop debauching Anu, I'll need to send you from the table. Do you want that?'

'How is that fair?' Paavo was trying to look angry but failing, eyes bright with amusement.

'Hermione?'

'I'm comfortable with that.'

Paavo chuckled, shaking his head. 'Honestly. All right, then, how do we do that?' He meant appealing to both sides of the divide.

'The first meeting is at eleven, isn't it?'

Alise nodded. 'In the formal salon, yes.'

'And the demonstration is at two?'

'That's right.'

'Let's have Rita speak and then find something to occupy them until the demonstration.' The English elf was refreshing everyone's coffee, and Vaike nodded her thanks. The coffee here was excellent, dark and strong without burning the throat.

'No' said Hermione after a pause 'let's leave them to their own devices. We'll say we've been called away to do some function and hint they should retire for a rest. A few hours stewing might help us.'

'What will we do, though? It has to be something sufficiently urgent.'

Krum's two uncles had thus far kept silent, but now the older one spoke. 'Nephew, Rada Popova is awake.'

'Hermione?'

'And the others, not to mention Toma and Violeta.' Those two had been helpers that day, and had both gone above and beyond, despite being seven and nine respectively.

'It would be most gracious of you to go.'

'I'm game, Uncle.'

'That sounds good.'

Hermione smiled at him and Vaike darted her eyes to Drago. At one level, sometimes she felt a shade jealous that the others could enjoy the intimacies of married life together. Mostly, though, Vaike wouldn't have traded places with them for all the money in the world. Still, it would be nice to be able to smile openly at Drago like that.

'Kreacher? Could you get some things together for us to bring them? Sweets and things?'

The elf vanished with a demented smiled, trailing the creepy, sniffling Norry. Vaike shook her head slowly. Drago gave her a grin.

'What shall we do until eleven?'

Paavo was fixing them with a stare. 'I'll give you a list of things you aren't to be doing.'

'Debauched things?'

'Tamm!'

'Kask!'

Paavo stood up as though to attack, and Tamm, laughing, leapt to his feet.

'Viktor? Do I have diplomatic immunity?'

'Enver?'

'I'll look it up.'

'Take your time.'

'What? No!'

'You get a thirty second head start, Tamm.'

'Drago?'

'He's quite ticklish at the elbows, Paavo.'

'Now it's fifteen seconds.'

'May I be excused?'

Hermione answered. 'All right, but no running in the corridors, Anu.'

He left at a fast clip, Paavo directly behind, stumping on his stick. The room was quiet a moment and then the laughter started.

Five hours later, Sirius Black was restless. As Salazar, he was sniffing about the corridors, making sure the other dogs were on task and making sure no suspicious types were lurking about. It was very, very quiet. Skeeter had done a bang-up job, and the defiling pall of what had been heard over everything like the noxious fumes of a factory's smokestacks.

The ministers, at least, were gone. Most of them had elected to go to the rose valley for the rest of the day as Viktor and Hermione visited the sick kids, dealt with some internal issues with Rumen Krum and actually got a little time to themselves as a couple. Sirius heartily approved of the last thing, and so, in service to a quiet day for them, was checking everything. Tight as a boomslang's eyelid.

He stretched, spine popping, and ambled toward Scabior, who'd emerged from a disused conference room holding a book and wearing a slightly guilty expression. Sirius sniffed-he smelt like ink, like Pavel and, below that, like he was sad. He chuffed, butting the fellow's leg with his head.

'Ello, Salazar. What's doins?'

Sirius looked round and grumbled. Scabior laughed and followed him to another conference room. Sirius changed back, cracking his neck. Damn Snape, he'd need to ask him for more of those awful bone-strengtheners. They did help, admittedly. Tasted like shite, though.

'Everything's quiet-ish. We got everybody off to the rose valley with no issues.'

'An young Malfoy's ostin?'

'He and Vaike and Paavo.'

'E's a gud bloke, Kask.'

'That he is. Reminds me a little of a smarter Goyle Sr. Much smarter, but he still has the air of being able to smash things.'

Scabior chuckled. 'E does, at that. Still, e does is job.'

'No doubt. May I ask you something?'

'Yeah.' Scabior looked guarded, and Sirius, smiling a little, said 'Which ones do you perceive are likeliest to muck this up for the kids? The Ministers, I mean.'

Scabior relaxed at once and then frowned, gnawing a thumb nail as he considered. 'I doan like Morreau a bit. E's a cunt.'

'He certainly is. Did you hear about what he said to Draco?'

'The missus told me. Fuck im. Fer a knut I'd take sum of is damned teeth t teach im sum manners.'

'I agree wholeheartedly in theory.'

'I aint gunna. Milady doan like that sort a thing, fer one.'

'No, and we might need him.'

'I doan think, Black. I thinks mebbe the French'll wants in and mebbe they wont, but Morreau aint gunna elp no matter what. E doan like us.'

Sirius smiled, and not in a friendly way. 'Oh, I don't know about that, Scabior. We could help him see the light.'

'Ow d'you mean?'

'I think Morreau could use a little...attitude adjustment, don't you?'

Scabior leant closer, grinning like a kid. 'S'pose as I do. What d'you ave in mind?'

'For starters, I thought a heard a suspicious noise from that room he's sharing with his wife, didn't you?'

'Shure did.'

'Maybe we could help them rearrange some things?'

'Papers, say.'

'Papers, belongings, the usual. If that doesn't encourage him improve, I can think of any number of helpful actions.'

'Mebbe ave Kreacher put some wires about.'

'They're checking everything, I'm sure.'

'Not if we fixes it sos they cant. Aint you gots a magination, Black?'

'Is that a challenge?'

'Mebbe it is, then.'

'Nothing fatal.'

'No poisonin. Even the small stuff.'

'Interesting. Why not? I agree, I'm just curious.'

'They'd ave eard about Blagoev. Doan wants it gettin round Milord an lady poison everyone looks at em wrong.'

'Hear, hear. No outright violence, either personally or via a wolf.'

'Or a elf.'

'But Kreacher is so good at it.' The elf appeared and gave them both a stern look, directed at nothing particularly that they were doing. Sirius suspected he just liked being round people again.

'Not saying as e aint. Jus that fair's fair.'

'A Slytherin, talking about fair? Snape will cry himself to sleep tonight.'

'Nother way to look at it is it aint t my vantage to agree, cauze yer elf's sup'osed to be elping me with other things too.'

'Better. All right, then everything else is fair game?'

'Nothin might urt sumone else.'

'What about his wife?'

'She aint dun it. An no maimins.'

'None? Whatever shall I do with my free time?'

'You aint gots the practice I as. Wuld ardly be sportin.'

'True enough. Let's talk to my cousins, but tonight, perhaps near midnight?'

'Werks fer me. Lemme let the missus know. She doan like it when she wakes up and I aint there.'

'She's doing well, though? With her health?'

'I thinks. She only gots a sip or so. Tells you, I tore a rite strip of all a them were on watch that day.'

'I don't blame you. Is Pavel dealing with this well?'

Scabior looked startled but only for a second. 'Yes an no. E was angry, but...' Scabior shrugged. They couldn't watch every single second, and a determined enough person would find a way.

'He seems a friendly bloke.'

'Yeah. E's elping me with me readin.'

'If I might ask...how did you get through Hogwarts if you can't...?'

'I kin sum. An really, Black, you an Pavel. No one cares if people like me kin read.'

'Pavel's asked you?'

'He offered and I thoughts, well, me wife kin read. It aint fittin I cant.'

Sirius nodded thoughtfully. What was Pavel up to? Was he just being friendly? Did he have some sinister agenda? To be fair, though (Sirius was not a Slytherin), Scabior, semi-literate or not, was smart, and seemed to be able to read people accurately. Sirius would keep an ear out, but if the fellow wanted to better himself, then Sirius wouldn't stop it.

'Ow's yer Mam, if you doan minds me asking? Milady sed she's ear.'

'Her portrait? Oh, disagreeable as ever, but not without guile.'

'Sorry?'

'She's sly.'

'Keepin tabs on ome?'

'Amongst other things. The Ministry's sending people to sniff about Feathering. A woman all in pink, she says.'

'Delores Umbridge. I ates that bitch.'

'That's the one. What did she do to you?'

'She were always hangin about Mcnair's office, trying to make im look at er. Used t gets on me las nerve, with that stupid lil laugh and smellin like a cat ouse on pay day.'

'That bad?'

'Aint nothin gud in that woman, you marks me words.'

'Snape's watching her.'

'Mebbe the snake'll eats er?'

Sirius closed his eyes a second. 'She'd give the poor creature dyspepsia.'

'You thinks the rest'll fall in t line, though? The ministers?'

'Most of them. If the pictures didn't do it, the wolves did.'

'Sum pitchers, those were. Liked t puke, seein that, I did.'

'We both know a thing or two about Dementors, Scabior.'

'So do they, now.'

He looked morose, just like Sirius felt when he thought about the brave new world for which his brother and so many others had died.

In the rose valley, Anu was rubbing at his head with the pad of his index finger.

The string on his eye patch was rubbing the top of his ear and it bothered him, but he figured that probably the patch should stay on all the same. No one would say anything if he took it off, he thought, but it might lead to awkward questions if someone asked about his missing eye.

There was a man in the party who looked familiar to Anu. He'd never seen him before, he was quite sure, but something about him tickled the back of Anu's brain like a feather. The others sensed it too, he suspected. There were similarities there, little things, and a clear conclusion to be made. If he'd made it, the others would have as well. Anu wasn't sure how to feel about that.

The ministers were very quiet. In small clusters, they sat like statues on the divans and benches throughout the house, faces set. Osma Pasha, ruler of Egypt, had secluded herself with her party upstairs. Some of the others were in the bedrooms, lying down, and Anu was sure he'd heard at least one person throwing up.

He wandered deeper into the garden. There was a small fountain-thing, and birds were splashing in it. Anu wished he had some seed to give them. He whistled and the birds, unconcerned, stopped splashing long enough to greet him with a few sweet notes.

_'Hello, birds. Today I am practice English again. I have with me a dog. The dog is Lady. She is a fat dog, and big. And you_?'

_'Anu, who are you talking to?'_

_'Hello, Drago. I am talking to birds.'_

Drago nodded slowly. _'I see._' He sat on a bench and the birds cheeped a bit more, flapping their wings. Anu sat too, and Lady followed them both, plopping down between them in order to keep tabs on them both.

_'*Are you all right, Drago?*'_

Drago was looking at the fountain-thing. '_*I've been worse.*'_

_'*That's a no?*'_

_'*It's an I wish I knew.*' _Draco scratched absently at the arm of his tunic and Anu frowned.

_'*You'll get an infection if you do that.*'_

He stopped. '_*I'm not sure I like this now that you get to do it to me.*'_

_'*Don't sic Paavo on me, then.*'_

_'*You deserved it.*'_

_'*I didn't.*'_

_'*Do.*'_

_'*Not.*'_

_'*Do.*'_

_'*Not.*'_

_'*Don't argue with your elders.*'_

_'*Don't pick on someone smaller than you.*'_

_'*That's more of a guideline, really.*'_

_'*Says who?*'_

_'*People.*'_

_'*Where?*'_

_'*About. It's toward the back.*'_

_'*Back of what?*'_

Drago shrugged. _'*Books.*'_

Lady rolled on her back and chuffed, sun warming her belly. Anu gave her chest a rub and then looked sidewise at Drago, who was looking into the middle distance with an odd expression on his face.

_'*Anu? Pavel told me something the other day. He's found the wolves.*'_

_'*From my village?*'_

_'*The ones who are left. Not many of them are.*'_

_'*Oh.*' _

'_*After things here have settled down, we're going to go after them. Estonia first, then Albania. They're holed up in the mountains, about sixty kilometres from your village.*'_

Anu's stomach swelled with bile. _'*You're sure?*'_

_'*Pavel is, and I believe him. Do you want to go?*'_

Did he? Anu thought about what had happened to his village. He'd help sift the rubble of the madrassa and get the bodies so they could be buried; he'd dug the graves with the other men and then had them refuse to share a meal with him; he'd found Nene, who'd hidden, and was not hurt, and cried with joy.

_'*I don't know.*'_

_'*That's all right.*'_

_'*I feel like I should. But I don't...*'_

_'*Vata is going. I'm sure he'd be happy to avenge you.*'_

Anu put his head in his hands for a moment. '_*My besa might depend on going.*'_

_'*It speaks well of it that you hesitated, Anu.*'_

_'*You didn't.*'_

_'*No*' _said Drago, sounding terribly sad _'*I didn't.*'_

Anu wished he could help his friend and brother and idol to feel better. _'*What's wrong?*'_

_'*I feel like-it will be hard to be normal when this is over. Do you feel that way?*'_

_'*I think so. Normal how?*'_

_'*Anu, when you enter a room, what do you do?*'_

Uncle Des had gone over this with him a thousand times. _'*Swing the door straight back, check my corners, make sure the curtains aren't concealing anyone and then sit down with my back to the corner or wall, making sure I can see any doors and windows at all time.*' _Anu had trouble with that last, but Uncle Des said as long as he was aware and alert, he should be all right.

_'*Right. But you know, I remember a time before that. And now I can't see how it could ever be like again. The wolves, the Dementors, going to Estonia...it's __**normal **__now.*'_

Anu looked at the birds, who were flapping their wings, clearly pleased to have a nice little pool all for their own use. They weren't watching. They weren't alert and aware. They were just birds, and happy, unaware that a cat could be lurking, or a bigger bird, or a rock thrown from somewhere they didn't think to check.

_'*If we got used to that, we can get used to better things too, can't we?*'_

Drago was also watching the birds. He didn't seem to hear the question. _'*What did you think about this morning, Anu?*'_

_'*Madam Skeeter's a good speaker.*'_

_'*Did you look at the pictures?*'_

_'*A few. Did you?*'_

Drago turned his head and looked at Anu. _'*I felt like I owed it to them.*'_

Anu acted before he thought about it too hard, which is to say he flung his arms about Drago and held on for dear life. _'*Stop it. Stop it. Drago, don't.*_'

Drago hugged back just as hard_. '*Anu?*'_

_'*You can't follow them, Drago. They're dead and we're alive.*'_

Anu released him but Drago didn't move much. He cocked his head ever so slightly, like Uncle Lucius, and said nothing. Anu inhaled deeply and cast Muffiliato.

_'*What do you mean, Anu?*'_

_'*Your father says Uncle Martin's...not well. Don't... just don't.*'_

Drago touched his arm. _'*No.*'_

_'*Promise?*'_

_'*Promise.*'_

_'*I'll tell Barty to talk to you if you go back on this.*'_

_'*I'll tell Paavo to throw you in the river.*'_

_'*What river?*'_

_'*I'll find one.*'_

_'*I might have diplomatic immunity.*'_

_'*I might be declared Minister of Magic, but I wouldn't bet money on it.*'_

They both laughed a little. The Anu sobered a bit. _'*If I went, we'd be gone a long time?*'_

_'*A few weeks, likely. And Anu, you understand...you know what we bring?*'_

Fire. Pain. Death. Like the wolves had brought to his village, and everywhere else they'd touched. Anu could feel pity, and did, but not for these people.

_'*It's been a while since that happened. What've they been doing this whole time?*_'

_'*They're brigands, is my impression. They needed to be rooted out anyhow. It's not a question of whether this will happen. It's just a question of whether you want to be part of it.*'_

The sun felt very warm on Anu's neck, and the garden was peaceful. It was hard, sitting in this calm place, to think of what they would bring when they came for the wolves. Blood and fire, death. Pain. Did he want to be part of this?

_'*What about Slughorn?*'_

_'*What about him?*'_

_'*If I go away, who will talk to him?*'_

_'*We'll figure something out, Anu. Polyjuice someone, perhaps.*'_

_'*And Nene?*'_

_'*We'd send extra wolves, but Anu, if you don't want to go, then don't.*_'

Anu tipped his face up. He could feel the warmth on his eyelid, right through the patch. On the whole, it had been a good trade, an eye for his new life, and Nene's, and making sure Stefan could never hurt another person. It was worth it to him.

_'*Drago? Do you remember when we...Blagoev?*'_

_'*Of course I do.*'_

_'*I was glad. That Viktor sent me out, I mean. I didn't want to.*'_

_'*That's normal.*'_

_'*No. Everyone else can help but I...*' _Anu felt as though he'd fought a clean war. He'd seen some terrible things, to be sure, but mostly his war had been seen from above, and after. Anu looked down, eye filling. Surely he should be stronger than this? He hadn't wanted to look at the pictures and he hadn't wanted to help torture Blagoev and he didn't want to burn those wolves out even if they deserved it.

Drago clamped down on his shoulder. _'*It would worry me a damned sight more if you did want it, Anu. I was talking to Sirius about...things...and it just...I don't know what to think. If nothing else, I don't want you exposed to that. To things.*'_

Anu turned his head so he was looking directly at Drago head-on.

_'*I knew what was going to happen to Blagoev before we convened that meeting, Drago.*'_

He'd sat in on the meeting, and when the time had come to speak against it he hadn't. Like Drago had said, Blagoev had known the price of what he did, and what they'd do to him if he failed.

_'*It's different.*'_

_'*How?*'_

Drago shook his head. _'*Another time. What do you think about the Ministers?*'_

_'*Very nice, most of them. Osma Pasha gave us biscuits and sweet mint tea this morning.*'_

_'*With figs in? The biscuits?*'_

_'Ma'moul, I think they might be called.*'_

_'*She sent us some as well. I half ate myself sick on them.*'_

_'*Don't tell Nene. She'll dose you for sure.*'_

'_*Don't tell her yourself. I don't put it past you.*'_

_'*Guess you should be nicer to me, then.*'_

_'*Guess I should be beating you more regularly, then. I would have thought your spirit would be broken by now.*'_

Anu grinned. Drago would never beat him. Then he thought about something that had been bothering him. _'*Drago, have you noticed that fellow looking at me?*'_

_'*Which one, Anu?*'_

_'*He's tall. Dark hair and eyes. He's with the Minister.*'_

Drago's eyes darted away for a second. _'*I noticed him.*'_

_'*You see it too?*'_

_'*Yes. Did you want to speak to him alone, Anu?*'_

Anu had thought quite a bit about that. _'*Might be he's just curious.*'_

_'*Yes, that could be it.*'_

_'*I heard him speaking Albanian earlier. He's a gheg.*'_

_'*Oh?*'_

_'*From Nene's old village, I think*.'_

The birds were chirping joyfully, splashing about in the water, totally abandoned to their play. Anu inhaled deeply, eyes on the singing, splashing birds.

_'*Do you want to speak to him? I'll go with you, if you do.*'_

_'*I don't know. Nothing is very certain right now, Drago.*'_

_'*No.*'_

_'*I suppose if he is...then I don't.*'_

Drago's brows moved a fraction but his face stayed still. _'*No?*'_

_'*Do you remember when you told me that Pojani must have had a lot of besa, Drago?*'_

_'*I do.*'_

_'*This man doesn't, if he is. Because he could have said something to make them stop hurting her. Or helped her find a place to go to have me, and didn't.*'_

_'*It's up to you, Anu.*'_

_'*Pojani's father says I represent their line now. It wouldn't repay his kindness very well to associate with a person like that. Do you think so?*' _

Anu had always wanted his father. Always. Now, though, he had men about him who might have done some bad things in service to the Dark Lord, or who might be grouchy from time to time, but who at least admitted it and tried to fix what they'd done.

_'*I think he would understand either way. It's not an easy issue.*'_

_'*No, but I have the others, you know. Snape and Sirius and the uncles. They'd never do a thing like that.*'_

_'*No. They'll support you no matter what and so will the rest of us.*'_

_'*I know.*'_

Anu bent and stroked Lady's head. She chuffed, eyes soft. Did she understand what was going on? Anu thought perhaps she did. Not the specifics, but she sensed his mood. She butted his leg with her head and he scratched again absently.

Drago frowned a little. _'*We should make sure they aren't killing one another in there. Every time I look at the Estonian minister, he's giving the Croatian minister a look as though he'd gladly set him on fire.*'_

_'*Should we have Kreacher wet everyone down to be safe?*'_

_'*I think so.*'_

They were headed back from the garden now. _'*Drago?*'_

_'*Hmm?*'_

_'*I don't want to go. Or talk to that man.*'_

Drago stopped walking. _'*All right, Anu.*'_

They were almost back inside. _'*Anu? I'm proud of you. You're doing really well with this.*'_

Anu beamed as they walked back inside, and tucked the memory of it into his heart, which was very full these days.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Love to reviewers, Countess Black and signofthetimes**

**The Bad News: Due to outside obligations, CB has stepped down as beta for the foreseeable future. She's very much still about, just not in an official capacity.**

**The Good News: signofthetimes has generously agreed to beta in her stead. That said, this chapter is unbeta'd because I have the delayed gratification skills of a hamster, so any mistakes are mine.**

**The Great news: CB got married! Feel free to PM her with best wishes :)**

**Also, what Scabior, Sirius et al are doing is called gaslighting-causing someone to doubt their own sanity. Snape would like to make it known that he has doubted his own sanity ever since he took the dog in.**

If Penko Krum objected to having been cut out of the loop, he wasn't showing it. He blandly sipped yoghurt, clearly waiting for her to talk.

'It went well, I thought. Talking to the ministers.'

Krum nodded. 'Of course. If you don't mind my asking...'

'Yes?'

'Do you think this ayran is oversalted?'

'A touch. Surely you've a statement? Impressions?'

'Quite a lot of both, I daresay.'

Rita put down her glass, biting down on a scream. 'What do you like to do, my lord? What do you enjoy?'

'Is this for a profile of some kind?' Krum's eyes were dancing with amusement. Rita had to admit, he was good. Frustratingly good, but at least it was a challenge.

'I'd like to know more about the people I'm risking my life to help.'

Krum sobered slightly, though his expression stayed the same. 'Fair enough. What would you like to know?'

'What will you tell me?'

He leant back in his chair and then offered her a tin full of sweets. She took one and munched. It was delicious, some sort of chewy coconut thing. Krum also munched, looking pensive.

'This morning, I had a realisation.'

'Yes?' Rita leant forward, nerves humming with excitement.

'I should switch to hot cereal for breakfast. I need the extra energy in the morning.'

Rita growled with frustration, throwing down her quill. 'Mr. Krum, please!'

'Why don't we start with your impressions, Madam Skeeter? Then perhaps I shall have something to add.'

Rita nodded, closed her eyes a second and began. She couldn't tell him all of it, but what she could, she did.

That morning, Rita had chosen grey, light grey robes and shoes with white trim, and her hair in a prim bun. It had seemed right. The red on her lips, too, had felt right-it was a confession and a little bravado, a dash of self-aware mockery. She was a scarlet woman now, wasn't she, in every sense?

Standing in front of them, her knees had shaken. Her hands had been wet. Her throat was dry. She'd had the urge to cry a little as she'd opened her twin envelopes and handed round the pictures and the documents that went with them.

The room, which had been quiet, came alive. The Ministers spoke amongst themselves, sometimes cancelling the wards and switching into their own languages. Two of them stood up and ran out, and one of them, the Minister of Finland, vomited in the bin in the corner and then withdrew, leaving his vice-Minister behind to deal with things.

Rita had loosely grouped the photos in what she understood to be chronological order. The first five shots were group shots, showing the muggles who'd been caught out in the public areas of the town.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Tamm look down, blanch and thrust the pictures at Paavo Kask, who took them and looked, face turgid with anger. His jaw clenching, he looked at them all, and then her, eyes flat and hot. Young Malfoy was sitting between the Kasks, and his face stayed remote as he looked. Rita flashed on the banty little fellow she'd met years earlier and several lifetimes ago and compared him to the tall, distant man she was studying now. Had he simply swallowed so much emotion that he couldn't stop?

There were eighteen pictures in total, and about that many documents. It took a long time for them to circulate completely. Many of the pictures were smaller-scale, showing lives that had been abruptly interrupted by a horror that none of them could see. A house which had caught fire, presumably because no one had been able to tend the electric-fire. Shoes left in the road as people ran. A baby pram, turned on its side.

'Madam, whenever you are ready.'

Rita inhaled deeply and faced them all, faces strained with shock. She could smell vomit. A few of them-and not all women-were crying, either covertly or openly. She had never been so afraid, but she felt like her fear pushed her higher, an almost-erotic, breathless sense of fear so complete it nullified itself.

'When did you first find out what happened in Whitnell?'

Rita told them everything she knew. Her voice didn't shake, and when it came time to tell them her part in things, she did it without hesitating.

Krum was nodding when she finished. 'Quite so.'

'What did you think?'

'No matter which way it goes, it will be hard. This is the birth of a new Europe, Madam Skeeter.'

Rita knew that. 'How do you feel about the Lord Protector and Vicereine's more active role in running things?'

'My nephew and niece speaks for all of us. Neither of them has made a single decision I do not agree with.'

'And the Minister?'

'My brother Rumen feels likewise, though of course you should ask him personally. I do not wish to give the impression I speak for him without his leave.'

'Of course not.'

How had he felt as he watched Blagoev die? She couldn't tell. He was as impenetrable as a stone wall, and gave as few hints of things to come.

'I've shared my impressions, Mr. Krum. Now I'd like to hear yours. Something that isn't a soundbite.'

He smiled a little. 'Soundbite?'

'A muggle word.'

'A very apt one. Madam Skeeter, Bulgaria is a country in the midst of a painful rebirth. We were-we are- a feudal people in a world where that has become unworkable. My nephew and niece are the midwives of the new order, but what form that might take, and what it means is still very much up in the air.'

She nodded, quill forgot about. None of this would ever be in an article like it was.

'Your people seem to trust you, Mr. Krum.'

'Outwardly, little has changed.'

'Inwardly?'

Krum gestured vaguely. 'We've given them a story. A narrative, if you will, to take us into the future. It will be interesting, in generations to come, to see how that narrative changes the way we Bulgarians see ourselves. We're an ancient people, Madam Skeeter. Our ancestors were Thracians. We were the first to write Cyrillic, did you know that?'

She shook her head no, too interested to interject. Krum pushed onward, eyes fixed on the past his people had forged, a past which was slowly slipping away into an uncertain future, a future which his teenage nephew was shaping.

'In some ways, what happened here is an extension of that. My nephew is a worthy successor to our tsars and heroes, and Hermione, God only knows, is certainly up to the task. But I wonder, sometimes, where this story fits into a modern Europe.'

Rita listened, fascinated. He was being **honest **with her. And raising some excellent points about things on top of it. She had no idea what the answer to any of the questions were, but perhaps it was enough just to ask them.

'Now your impressions, Madam Skeeter. Where does this New Britain we heard so much about fit into things?'

'I wish I knew, Mr. Krum.'

'Have you ever supported the Dark Lord? Politically?'

She shook her head. 'No. I'm apolitical, really. Or was, I suppose, before this.'

'Was the Dark Lord ever...his appeal quite eludes me, I freely admit.'

Rita frowned, trying to find a way to explain. 'Like you've said yourself, Mr. Krum, the Dark Lord has given us a narrative. And a reason for things being like they are-a lot of old timers don't like the way the wind has been blowing since the thirties or so. The Dark Lord's reversed all that.'

'So you think my nephew's narrative is comparable to the Dark Lord's?'

Krum didn't seem angry. On the contrary, he just seemed interested and friendly. Rita strove for words for this next part.

'Yes and no. He's given them a narrative, of course, but not like the Dark Lord's.'

'And the difference, you would say?'

'Your nephew's is not evil.' Rita couldn't be more eloquent than that.

In another part of the Ministry, Hermione was musing on much the same thing. She was taking an afternoon bath, her husband snoozing in their bed, smiling a little in his sleep. Why shouldn't he? Things seemed to be moving in their favour, if in fits and spurts.

Estonia, Albania and Macedonia would have agreed to almost anything, she suspected, and were therefore vocally receptive to their plans. Greece, Turkey, Lithuania, Norway and Bosnia were likewise well-inclined. Hermione had asked Alise to have some words with the Latvian Minister, which might make her more inclined to be favourable to them.

The Poles, Finns, Serbs and Croats were all seemingly neutral, but, she thought she could sense, not exactly opposed. Sweden was hard to read, and Egypt was almost impossible. And France, of course, was represented by Morreau.

She sighed deeply and sat up, startled, as Kreacher approached. 'Oh! Hello, Kreacher.'

Kreacher beamed, toothless gums on display. 'Mistress was pleased today with things?'

'More or less. I think most of them will do it.'

'Kreacher thinks so too.' He picked up a silver ewer and filled it magically. The water was steaming hot. Hermione settled back and let him start washing her hair.

'Kreacher is sending elves about like Mistress asked.'

'Did you? Good. How is Norry doing?'

Kreacher's mouth twisted. 'It is Kreacher's job to serve, not to have opinions, Mistress.'

'Kreacher?'

'Norry is a very stupid elf, Mistress. He is hardly able to do even simple tasks, and often cries for no reason Kreacher can see.'

'How do he and Niska get along?'

'Niska is very patient.'

'Is he like Winky, do you think?'

'Like Winky, yes.'

Hermione sighed as the elf rubbed away the day's tension, which had gathered in her neck. 'At least he's a place with us. That's something.'

'Hmmph' said Kreacher, and soaped her back. When she was clean and sweet, Hermione asked for casual, if smart, clothes, having a little free time. She left her dozing husband and stepped into the warm late-afternoon sun.

Trailed by Bess, who was in high spirits, Hermione found a likely bench and sat down, looking up at the sky. She was on the verge of calling for her basket when she heard a tinkle like a laugh.

Jumping up, wand drawn, she was slightly abashed to see it was only the Minister of Egypt. Osma Pasha was swathed head to toe in silk, and she tinkled when she moved. The only thing one could see was her eyes, lined dark black, and her hands, ornamented with something reddish, the first knuckle of each finger dyed and the rest all lacy patterns.

'Good afternoon, Vicereine.'

'Good afternoon, Osma Pasha.'

The woman came unbidden and sat beside Hermione. She smelt of something sweet. not floral and not quite spicy, either. Hermione searched for a topic and found her mind was comfortably blank.

'Oud.'

'Sorry?'

'It's oud. Perfume from the heart of a tree. And yours is rose.'

'Yes. We make our own otto in the rose valley.'

The women sat in silence for a few moments. 'How old are you, Vicereine?'

'Fifteen, Excellency.'

'I am sixty two. I have been Pasha of Wizarding Egypt since I was nineteen. I am very tired. How are you?'

Hermione smiled a little. 'Glad you are all here.'

'As are we. It breaks the tedium.' She twitched the veil that covered her face aside and breathed deeply. 'It's a beautiful country, isn't it, Bulgaria?'

'Very beautiful.'

'Do you miss your home?'

'This is my home.'

Osma Pasha nodded slowly. 'Some places have a way of getting into your blood.'

Hermione nodded, understanding completely. 'Castle Krum is like that.'

'For me, Egypt is always present. Eternal, if I am not, as my body reminds me with increasing frequency.'

'My people have survived, Vicereine. The Hittites, the Assyrians, the Greeks, the Romans, the Turks, the Syrians, your own people, all of them came. We've outlived them, more or less. Why should this thing now with Britain be different?'

Hermione closed her eyes a second, gathering her strength for this small-scale battle. 'Because it's not about outlasting a sane enemy, Osma Pasha. That would be easy. This is about doing what's right.'

'Right? What does a girl of fifteen presume to tell her elder about what is right?' There was no recrimination in her tone; rather, she sounded amused. Hermione reminded herself of her muggle Nan-English witches never quail or shirk. They do what needs to be done.

'Nothing, Excellency. I can only share my own insights.'

Osma Pasha laughed a little. 'Well done, my dear. I would like to hear your insights, then.'

'This will never stop until we stop it. Never. He'll go on and on, and it will pass to our children and their children, and the sword will be over our heads forever. I don't want that for our people, or yours, or anyone.'

'Might it not draw his ire on us, should we side with you?'

'It might. But those muggles didn't do anything. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

'You believe he would attack out of hand for nothing?'

'Not at first. He'd turn on us first, or Estonia, or Albania. Macedonia, perhaps. One at a time, until his enemies were gone and he couldn't plunder anything else. Then he might decide he wants something you have. Books of lore, or treasure, or just to destroy things others have made.'

Osma Pasha looked at Bess, gambolling in the courtyard. 'Your parents must be made with worry about you, and your cousin's parents as well.'

'We do the best we can.'

'If Egypt should join your cause, Vicereine, what would you offer in return?'

'A world where there will never be another Whitnell.'

'And use of your army?'

'Should you need to defend against another country.'

Osma Pasha said nothing for a full minute. 'I've got seven, myself. Children. Nine grandchildren so far. I've lived a very fortunate life. War is far from us. If we agree to help you, Egyptian blood will spill.'

'If you do not, and he comes for you, then even more blood will be spilt. At least, if your aurors come, the people you send you will have a fighting chance to defend themselves. If no one is ready when he comes, then everyone will die.'

'You believe this in your heart?'

'I do.'

'My country is ancient, with many secrets he would no doubt like. It troubles me, the thought of our seers and mages in thrall to your Dark Lord.'

Hermione's interest was piqued, but she shoved it aside for now. 'What would it take to convince you, Excellency?'

Osma Pasha's face was hidden, but the corners of her eyes wrinkled as she smiled.

'We will see, child. For now, is there a private room? I would uncover myself so we might talk more.'

They ladies adjourned to a comfortable sitting room. Hermione had the elves put up a curtain so Osma Pasha would be unseen, and then the woman unveiled. She reminded Hermione a little of Professor McGonagall, thin and small and sharp-featured, but kind about the eyes. She was wearing several heavy silver bracelets, and anklets set with bells which chimed when she walked.

'Fifteen. Was it hard for you, adjusting to being married?'

Hermione sipped some of the sweet, strong tea the elves had brought. It was Egyptian style, and she felt a small twinge of guilt at what her muggle Mum and Dad would say about something that sweet.

'I was chatelaine for a year and a half beforehand. And I am fortunate to have as good as a man as my husband.'

'As am I. His name is Khaled, and we've been married forty three years.'

Hermione smiled. 'That's a long time.'

'A very long time. He has helped me give our country peace and prosperity. When we were first married, we took a two-week tour of the Nile. It was so long ago.' Her eyes clouded a little with memory and then sharpened again.

'I imagine you must feel that way about other things. Normality. Peace.'

'Sometimes I do. The people about me are very supportive.'

'Your parents are known even in my country, and your uncles. Was it hard for you, growing up in their shadow?'

Hermione could answer this one honestly, at least. 'Not at all. I was sheltered from that aspect of things.'

Osma Pasha nodded slowly. 'I do not blame your aunt. It must have been very challenging for her.'

'Aunt Narcissa is a very tough lady.'

Osma Pasha inclined her head. 'And not the only one in the family, from what we hear in Egypt. Word of your prowess had spread. Are the stories true, child?'

Hermione didn't know the answer to that, not really. Some of it, no doubt, was. A lot of it was. But some of it-much of it-was tempered for her by what she knew of the players. Mother had done terrible things, but was loving and funny. Father had too, but he made her feel safe. Uncle Rab gave good hugs. Uncle Lucius liked to tease, and was good with children.

How could she put that into words? There was a tapestry here, a panoply of light and dark that fused together to make a sort of background to her life, and which of it was Hermione? Was she was the darkness or the light, or a mixture?

'It's complicated, Osma Pasha.'

Osma Pasha laughed softly and patted her cheek. 'Well done, child. Tell me your impressions, then, if you'd not mind.'

Hermione drank tea and did it.

At midnight, Lemuel Scabior kissed his wife goodbye. Like him, Alise was a night owl, and she smiled and went back to her work, which was an embroidered apron for Miss Yana Krum. She was working on a complicated interlocking pattern of roses and vines, and Scabior crept out, lest he cause her to make an error.

Black was waiting for him in the corridor, and Pavel, too, had apparently opted to join. Scabior didn't mind much, as he quite liked Pavel. The three crept along into the quarters where the foreign ministers were being kept. Black transformed and Pavel conjured an impressively official-looking harness for him, hooking him up as Scabior blasted the door open.

Morreau and his wife were in bed. Sleeping, thankfully, as it might have been awkward had they been doing anything else. They leapt up, gasping, as Pavel loosed Black, who ran toward them barking.

'There's been reports of unusual activity in this room. Did you send for us?'

'What? No! Get out!'

Scabior stepped forward. 'Sorry, no kin do. We needs t check everythin. Regulations, d'you see?'

'See what, you oafs? How dare you presume to disturb us?'

'Un'us'al activity, likes e said. We needs t check everythin an makes shure it aint a problem.'

'I'll ave yer jobs for this!'

'I don't think so.' Pavel spoke with great calm, totally unperturbed. Beside him, Black was sniffing vigourously, sometimes pawing at random places. Morreau's face was getting redder by the second.

'And why, pray tell, not? Who are you people?'

'The gentleman in the purple waistcoat is Lemuel Scabior of Britain. I am Nicolae Pavel of Romania, and this fellow is Salazar, a specialised English tracking dog.'

'Krum dare sends a hooligan and a werewolf after me?'

'The Lord Protector has no idea. An alarm was tripped and we wanted to come and investigate. It's a very sensitive system.'

'A likely story. Did Malfoy set this up?'

'Mr. Malfoy's aint got a thin to do with this. Like Mr. Pavel sed, it's the alarms.'

'Oh, he 'aint' doesn't he? Or should that be 'don't he'?'

Scabior's jaw tightened, but only for a second. 'Minister, you gots to leave whilst we clears this place.'

'I'm not going anywhere!'

Pavel smiled a little. 'Yes, Minister, you are. If you don't wish to go peacefully, we are authorised to remove you.'

'I demand to see Krum this second.'

Pavel sent for Kreacher. 'Please get the Lord Protector and Vicereine if you would, Kreacher. Minister Morreau would have a word.'

Kreacher glowered. 'Master and Mistress are sleeping.'

'Elf, I demand you get them this second.' Morreau, who made the mistake of not quailing under Kreacher's disapproving glare.

'Master and Mistress are sleeping.'

'Elf, I command you!'

'Master and Mistress are sleeping.'

'Please, Kreacher? We needs t search the room.'

'Kreacher is bringing Minister and Madam to see them.'

'Damned right you are. Come, Claudette.' Madam Morreau pulled on a dressing robe and trailed after her outraged husband, giving a single shrug of perfectly Gallic regret for her lost sleep.

They didn't have much time. Black turned back and the three of them went to work tossing the room, copying documents and making certain changes in the room that might help make Morreau more amenable to their point of view.

As Kreacher copied the documents with Pavel, Scabior had elves switch out the bedding with identical but slightly smaller linens, even having an elf make sure to dab on a little perfume on the bedclothes to make sure they smelt right.

Black was modifying the chairs and tables, charming them ever so slightly lower. Then he fixed the wardrobe to make it taller and narrower. Not by much, but enough to be barely noticeable.

Scabior opened the door of the wardrobe itself and swished a spell. Half the clothes glowed blue. When the Morreaus put them on, they'd be a touch looser than they ought to be. He did the other half tighter. He'd have to find a way back in so he could switch them in a day or so.

Black was modifying the chandelier. He muttered something and snapped his wrist at it. It rose a shade, and about a third of the candles vanished. It canted ever-so-slightly as well.

Pavel had finished the documents and was making his own alterations to the bed and about other places. Black, meantime, had transformed into Salazar and found Morreau's shoes. He lifted his leg and the heavy smell of piss overlaid the soap and pomade smell that had hung there previously.

Changing back, Black dried the piss and charmed the inside of the shoe so it would look the same. The smell would be maddening. Scabior had to admit, nob or no nob, Black was giving him a run for his money.

Time was getting short. Reminding himself not to steal anything out of habit, Scabior poked his head into the wardrobe and saw something. A book, shoved far back into the corner. 'Kreacher, and that ere, please.'

Kreacher did. Scabior opened the book and papers fell out. 'Mebbe we shud takes these too, yeah?'

He started to hand them over and then looked down, seeing Walden Mcnair's handwriting. He looked closer, stomach dropping to his feet. His reading was still not very good, but it wasn't so bad he couldn't tell what this what.

'We needs to get Milord rite now.'

'Scabior, what's wrong?'

He handed over the documents, and two minutes later they were running down the corridor toward the office, feet pounding, Black ahead of them. Scabior could hear the shouting from the office, and then Flower's clear voice in reply.

'How dare you treat members of our household this way? Mr. Scabior is our head of security and he speaks for my lord husband and I in these matters.'

'You send a beast and a filthy guttersnipe to try to intimidate us?'

'I would thank you, sir, to adopt a more respectful tone.'

'You insolent child!'

Black pushed through the door as he changed and went directly for Morreau, wand to his throat. 'Stupify.'

Pavel Stupified the wife, and then spread the documents out on the desk. 'My lady, we found these in Morreau's rooms, hidden in a book.'

'Thank you, Mr. Pavel. We might need someone to carry a message.'

'I'll go. Give me an hour and I'll take everything myself.' Black spoke up.

'Thank you, cousin.' Flower's Bulgarian turned to her. She was reading, eyes widening in comprehension. Kreacher appeared to copy it all down and then Black Portkeyed, promising to be back as soon as possible.

Pavel brought the Morreaus back round. Madam sat up, rubbing her eyes and looking round warily.

'Norry, escort Madam Morreau back to her rooms. Niska, get Arco and a few others to make sure she can rest undisturbed, please.'

As soon as she was gone, Flower woke Morreau. Scabior was curious about where this was going to go. The Bulgarian was angrier than Scabior had ever seen him, normally impassive face working with fury.

He didn't get the chance. Flower, eyes blazing, waiting exactly as long as it took for Morreau to come round. Then, balling up a little fist, she punched him squarely in the nose with it. It wasn't half a bad punch, either-his head rocked back, and a little blood trickled out.

'You slimy, evil little cockroach!'

Young Malfoy, who'd been standing quietly in the background, came closer. He hugged her one-armed. 'Nice punch, Hermione.'

'Thank you, Draco.'

The Bulgarian came round her other side. Scabior felt a flush of real pride in them all, and a nostalgic fondness for the skinny, brave little girl he'd known. In his own small way, he'd done what he could to encourage her, and look at her now! All of them, really.

Morreau's mouth opened and closed. This time it was the Bulgarian's fist that lashed out, and bone crunched. Morreau cried out shrilly, head bobbing.

'Never speak to my wife that way again.'

Scabior approved heartily, but perhaps he should step in? His eyes darted to Pavel, who nodded once. They were the adults here, after all.

'Milord, Milady, you wants me t take im to a cell?'

Flower answered. 'Yes, please. Tomorrow we'll see what the others say about all this.'

Young Malfoy was still grinning. 'Shall I ask the elves to make a little special ayran for our guest? Just in case?'

'No.' said Flower after a second's pause. 'We can be more inventive than that. Use your imagination, Draco.'

Scabior, dragging the minister off, laughed out loud.


	32. Chapter 32

**NOTE: This is a repost, though not a rewrite, due to atrocious formatting in the previous version. I'm sincerely sorry about that, and my absence. My laptop was in the shop. **

** Thanks to signofthetimes, CB, and everyone who's been so patient.**

**NBI: The elves tend to Apparate people because human Apparation is tracked and elf Apparation isn't. It's especially important for people like Sirius and Eugenia to not flag the system.**

**NBII: As a Polysci major, I was ordered to choose a country to specialize in. Sirius's plan is directly influenced by my choice, so if it seems crazy, remember it's truth in television. (Feel free to PM if you're curious).**

**NBIII: I'm pretty sure the last paragraph of Sirius's viewpoint was influenced by a quote, so if you know the author, please let me know so I can credit him or her.**

Sirius hit the ground running. He appeared in the Portkey point in Spinner's End (a linen closet) and pounded down the stairs, calling for Mippy to get Snape, who appeared almost instantly.

'Good, you're here. We're going directly to Lincolnshire.'

'So you've heard?'

'Heard what, dog? I assume you'd heard. Did Kreacher not tell you?'

'Tell me what?'

Sirius swore and explain. Snape's eyes widened and he turned away and hissed a filthy word. 'Tell me this is some stupid joke on your point, dog.'

Sirius shook his head, and Snape, sallower than usual, nodded to Mippy to Apparate them both.

In Lincolnshire, Bellatrix Lestrange was not thinking about either man. Instead, tongue poked out the corner of her mouth, she was carefully crushing a milksap pod, watching as the dense white sap oozed out. She scooped up the viscous stuff with the edge of her knife and Rabastan took it, carefully scraping it into a sterile phial.

'Will it be enough?'

'I should hope so.' Rabastan, in a leather potioner's apron, looked unusually stressed. She didn't blame him; if anyone found out they were growing things in the basement of Lestrange House, it would be disastrous, and now was the most dangerous time of all, as the first crops matured and flowered.

Bellatrix stood up, stretching, hands to the small of her back. Her spine crackled a bit, popping painfully. She grunted and Rabastan, who'd taken to muttering to himself as he worked, frowned.

'Trixie?'

'I'm fine.'

'Take something for it?'

'I take all those potions, don't I? Snape stuffs me like a fois gras duck and look at all the good it's doing.'

'Trixie, just take a pain potion and I'll leave you alone.'

'You'll leave me alone because I'll hex you if you don't.'

'You haven't hexed Rodolphus yet.'

'I am saving that for a special occasion, but you are not he. I will hex you without pity, never believe I shan't.'

'Eugenia would be cross with you.'

'Which is the sole reason I have not done it yet, I assure you.'

Rabastan snorted. 'The blood orchids are coming along nicely. Another two weeks, I'd say.'

'What does Snape want all this for, anyway?' She gestured at the orderly rows of plants, assorted pots of soil out of which were shyly poking green sprouts, tubs in which were buried dense tubers.

'Ingredients for things we may need that he doesn't wish to buy. No doubt our purchases are scrutinised carefully.'

'No doubt.' She made a face and then sat down again, carefully charming her hands as she started to shred some beebleberry leaves. Rabastan sat down and joined her just as Rodolphus and Eugenia came in, both of them chuckling.

'You'll never guess what Aunt's gone and done.'

'Do we need to dispose of the body?'

'Not this time, but almost.'

Eugenia was pink-cheeked, giggling like a schoolgirl. 'You know that godawful Umbridge woman the Ministry keeps sending?'

'I'd thought I smelt something.'

'Well, she came in today and Aunt-' Eugenia started giggling, and Bellatrix rolled her eyes, but in a friendly way. There was precious little laughter these days like it was. Rodolphus was no better, snorting helplessly.

'She started going on about the Selwyns, and then Aunt said 'What, you mean you're a Selwyn?'

'That's right.' Rodolphus was quite a good mimic, and he managed the woman's irritating voice without much effort. Eugenia nodded, eyes bright with amusement.

'So what happened then?'

'Aunt looked at her and said ''That explains it. The Selwyns always were a prolix lot of people.''

Bellatrix snorted. 'She didn't.'

'She did. And whilst Umbridge was trying to find something to say, Aunt said ''Still, even they didn't tattle on this way. Surely you've something better to do than bother Madam Feathering? It must be the other part of you-Umbridge, is that Halfblood?'

Now Rabastan was chortling. 'What did Umbridge say?'

'She just stared at her and then stood up, except that in the interim, Nagini had made off with her hat.'

The group stared at one another. 'What in the world would a snake do with a hat?'

'That's the funny part.'

Bellatrix huffed. 'Well, Rodolphus?'

'Go up and see.'

Bellatrix uncharmed her hands and went up the narrow stairs. The corridors were empty. She could faintly hear the rustling of the snake's slither, and low hissing. She looked round and saw nothing. Where could she-and Hetty, as the two were joined at the hip these days-be? Bellatrix heard the Floo go and headed that way, wand raised. Possibly the Dark Lord had ordered Hetty back to Feathering, permission to spend the night at Lestrange House be damned.

It was Snape, and Sirius was hard on his heels. 'Get them upstairs, Bellatrix, and quickly. Go, hurry, now.'

She turned and ran down the stairs. 'Upstairs, all of you, hurry! It's Snape!'

By the time she'd come back Narcissa and Malfoy were there. The group filed into the small parlour as the elves warded everything and brought Cunegarde down to sit amongst them in her wheeled chair, hovering a bit above the ground.

Snape handed round the documents as Sirius was roundly embraced by all and sundry, even Cunegarde. Elves brought drinks and snacks but no one ate or drank, greedy for news and not food.

'It would seem there's been a bit of an incident.' Snape pulled a thick sheath of paper from his pocket and spread everyone out on a table.

'Letters from Walden Mcnair to Aurelien Morreau, promising the other's favour in return for an account of what's happening in Bulgaria.'

Bellatrix leant over and grabbed the top letter. Her eyes roved the page and then she slammed it down. 'That bastard.' She wasn't sure if she meant Macnair, the Dark Lord, Morreau or all of them.

'How did he know about the meeting?'

Sirius dug in the pile. 'He was tipped. One of Morreau's people got in touch with him.'

'Who was his connexion here, do we know?'

Snape shook his head. 'No. I've got someone on it, but it might be a few days. There is more, and worse, news here.'

He handed them another sheet of parchment. Bellatrix got it first and looked at it, scalp prickling as she read.

'The Da...to Archie Mulciber...Lestranges and Malfoys suspected of traitorous activity... to be under close surveillance... We knew this already, Snape.'

'Read on.'

'Simultaneous raids to be conducted on the morning of the nineteenth in search of proscribed items and paraphernalia... Well, there's a surprise.'

'Further, or else let someone else have a turn.'

'Including particularly several valuable family artefacts which We left with Our beloved friend Achilles Lestrange, and which have since gone missing. We are afraid the traitors mean to use them for the purpose of subverting Us via remote magic, and want specifically the following items found: a diary from Our youth, a cup belonging to Us via Our ancestors the Peverell family, and...' several other things, mostly original copies of letters and things like that.

'He knows we know.' Rabastan sounded sick, but Snape, fortunately, shook his head at once.

'He knows nothing or we'd be dead. He merely wants his Horcruxes close to him. Notice he did not mention the locket-if he knew about it, he'd have mentioned it.'

Nods. Bellatrix felt restless, the old familiar anger and a newer caution. She was always telling the girl to be careful, to think about things, to be cunning.

She found it somewhat harder to actually do it herself. She'd always preferred simply being ruthlessly direct, attacking first, running on sheer will. Not now-now she would bide like a snake in the grass. Still, she didn't have to like it.

'What do we do, then, Snape?'

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. 'This moment? Nothing. Start shrinking valuables and sending them with Black or Kreacher. Nothing that will be missed, but family portraits, or things that can be sold. It is not outside the realm of possibility some or all of you will need to abscond.'

'Like thieves in the night, Snape?'

'Like people who want to live to fight another day, Trixie.'

Rodolphus pursed his lips. 'You know, Severus, that the Lestranges and Malfoys both practice home inhumation?'

'I remember, yes.'

'If we left, they'd defile the graves.'

'Yes, they would.'

'How can we leave our parents to that fate?'

'That depends on what you'd have me tell your daughter, Rodolphus. Shall I comfort her with the knowledge you died to protect bones that ended up scattered anyhow?'

Rodolphus flushed. 'Now wait just a moment. I'm not sure I think-'

'They're dead, Rodolphus. The children are not. If you'd be content in joining Martin, do it. I shan't stop you.'

Rodolphus's mouth snapped shut. Her husband, usually the mildest and most patient of men, was genuinely angry. Most interesting. Bellatrix wondered whether she ought to find a way to mollify him or ask him for a duel, later. Perhaps both.

'Speaking of whom' said Rabastan, clearly trying to prevent an argument 'what about the people at Feathering? We can't simply leave them to their fates.'

'Hetty can't be Portkeyed.'

Snape looked very, very faintly uneasy, but only for an instant. 'Needs must is needs must.'

'If we do it, she will lose the baby.'

'If she goes to Azkaban, the odds are she will lose more than that, as well you know, Rabastan.'

Rabastan dropped his head in acknowledgement. 'So we get Portkeys for Aunt and Uncle Erasmus and then what?'

'Then nothing, nephew, and I would thank you not to speak for me. I am old and bitter, not senile. Yet. I'm sure the Universe has some other nasty surprise in store for me.'

Bellatrix snorted. 'I agree completely.'

'No one's asked you, Rodolphus's wife. Or me, but that's neither here nor there. I shan't be going anywhere.'

'Aunt, you don't mean to fight?'

'Of course I do. I am too old to start afresh, and anyway, what is there for me in Bulgaria?'

'Hermione. She would be crushed to lose you.'

'I am not unfond of the girl, for all her many faults. But she is young and her life is only just starting. She will forget me in time.'

'Of course she won't. She's always loved you very much.'

Cunegarde snorted. 'The fact I spent these years cautioning her against excessive affection only to be defied does not argue your point, Rodolphus.'

Bellatrix would never quite believe what happened even as she lived it, and later would pretend she had not seen such a thing. Her sanity demanded it. Cunegarde's mouth wobbled once, very slightly.

'The girl has got you and your wife and her own husband. Who has Erasmus got?'

'He can come with us.'

'He will never consent to leave Feathering and you know it. His mind is not strong enough. Would you force him?'

'He is a part of our family.'

'As is your daughter, and she has a sight more life ahead of her than Rassy or I have.'

Rodolphus stood and went to his great-aunt. 'You are the last link with my parents, Aunt, and Barty's mother, and a world which doesn't exist anymore.'

Cunegarde fiddled with her bracelet. 'Men. Always assuming that all a woman wants is a comfortable chair and their own presence. Has it ever occurred to you, nephew, that my debt to our line is no lesser than your own?'

'Aunt?'

'I am the daughter of Aeneas Lestrange, and I do not wish to while away the tag end of my life in some foreign keep. It has not been a happy life, but it has been mine. If Erasmus chooses to go, I shall accompany him. Other than that, I will stay here. Is my thirst for glory less than yours, Rodolphus, because of my sex?'

'You plan to...mount a last stand?'

Cunegarde smiled a little. 'When the time comes, nephew, I wish to exit commiserate with the dignity of our family.'

'And Martin?'

Malfoy spoke. 'His odds might be better here, in some ways. He is too valuable to lose and too important to imprison for no reason. It would be a scandal.'

'He was hardly thinking of scandals when he ignored that friendship treaty, Malfoy.' Bellatrix gave him her best sneer, which he fearlessly gave back.

'No, but killing Martin could be the tipping point for an invasion. Viktor would have to respond with force.'

'I am not sure' Snape said 'that his mind is processing practical concerns now, Lucius. If we might assume that at least a few of these things on that list are Horcruxes, then his mind is even more compromised than we might have expected.'

'It would explain the abrupt shifts in his behaviour.'

'It might give us an in.' Sirius, who had been thus far silent, spoke up. All eyes turned to him and he shifted a little.

'If he's this unstable, we could find ways to push him, couldn't we?'

'That's a dangerous game, Black. Suppose we push him too far and he snaps?'

'Suppose we don't and he snaps anyhow. If we control things, we might be able to manage the break.'

Snape cocked his head. 'Have you ideas for how we could do that?'

'Give me a little time with that one.'

Bellatrix made a rude noise. 'We might not have time, cousin. Snape, haven't you got those hairs we harvested?'

'Of course I have.'

'Then let's use them.'

'To do what?'

'Firstly, to figure out how many of those damned things are out there. And find a way to undermine those treacherous sons of bitches. Sorry, Cissy.'

'Again, Bellatrix, how do you propose we do that?'

Bellatrix frowned, brow furrowing. 'Have you figured anything out about his early life, Sirius?'

'Damned little. Eugenia and I've looked high and low, but there's very little out there.'

'Unless...'

'Rabastan?'

'Severus, do you still go to Hogwarts frequently?'

'I do.'

'Surely there is some record of his schooldays there.'

'I daresay the other would notice my digging about, Rabastan.'

'No doubt he would. If you should talk to the ghosts, though, and the portraits...?'

Snape was nodding slowly. 'A good plan, but perhaps I am not the person for it. Someone with a more...personable touch, perhaps.'

'Hetty?'

'Elf, fetch Madam Feathering, please. I expect, by the way, that he will want to see Draco soon.'

Narcissa leant closer. 'Will you recall him?'

'No. Pavel will Polyjuice and come in his stead.'

'Is that safe?'

'As long as Greyback isn't about.'

Hetty appeared in a doorway. Her stomach was just barely starting to curve. She was rubbing it absently with one hand. The real shock was the snake, who was slithering beside her.

It was a terrible hat, nauseatingly pink straw bestrewn with lace and swags of lighter pink ribbon. It looked like it had been vomited upon by a species of particularly aggressive pixies, some kind that used cuteness as a weapon.

Bellatrix bit her lip. Now she could see why her husband and sister in law had been laughing so hard. Nagini settled against a wall close to Hetty, eyes watching them all.

'It is time to tell them your secret, Madam Feathering.'

Hetty smiled and hissed. Bellatrix jerked with shock, noticing the others had all done some variation on the same. Hetty stopped, face flushed, eyes on her shoes. Nagini slithered from her place and raised herself up so she and Hetty were side by side, daring anyone to say anything.

'So the Chamber is within our grasp after all, Snape?'

'It would seem.'

'And Nagini' said Hetty shyly, eyes on her shoes 'wants to help. She likes us, you see.'

'Help us how, darling?'

Hetty was still looking at the floor. 'Well, she's been talking to snakes. Native snakes, I mean. There's only three kinds, and just the one is poisonous, but they want to help too.'

'Snakes?'

'She went into the woods and talked to them, and now they're talking to the others.'

Even Snape looked surprised. 'Most interesting.'

Rodolphus put a hand on her arm. 'Trixie?'

'Rodolphus?'

'I was right.'

'I'm going to hex you.'

The snake left Hetty's side and came to Bellatrix. She reared up and the two predators sat eye to eye. Bellatrix was not afraid. In the forest of men's dreams, she had always been the tiger. If anyone understood that, it would be this snake.

Nagini never blinked. Finally, Bellatrix tipped her head back and said gravely 'I like your hat, Nagini.'

She would have sworn the snake was laughing, and she joined in, feeling like perhaps there was a light at the end of this, after all.

Back at Spinner's End an hour later, Sirius was taking a plate of mutton and parsnips from the elf. Across from him, Snape was quiet, thoughtful. Sirius tipped his head and gave the bastard a look.

'What, Black?'

'You've got a look on your face like a pound of tripe, is what. Something wrong, or has your face finally frozen like that?'

'Shut up. I'm trying to think.'

'Did your copy of the Grumpy Snail finally come in at Flourish and Blotts, Snape?'

'Shut up.'

'It isn't as though I've never shown any ability to solve problems or anything, have I?'

Snape slammed down his fork. 'Fine, you find a solution.'

'To what?'

'All of it.'

Sirius munched a parsnip. 'All right. So he wants his things back? Give them to him.'

'Oh, that will get us much closer to our goal, won't it?'

'Have him recall everything he's ever given any of them, Snape. If he was smart, he seeded Horcruxes about all the Inner Circle, so if anyone ever turned, he'd not have lost all his pieces.'

Snape, who'd been chewing, stopped. 'Go on, dog.'

'He's vain, Snape. So what if we hid things in plain sight?'

'How so?'

'They're renovating the Ministry, aren't they?'

'Refurbishing the marble.'

'Suppose they put on a new wing? To celebrate his achievements in...I don't know, being the biggest cunt about.'

'To encourage people.'

'There is a war coming, Snape. He has to sense it as well.'

'Yes. So we display the Horcruxes.'

'No. We give him the Horcruxes and then swap them out for fakes in the displays.'

'How, pray tell, do we do that?'

'Get me pictures of the Horcruxes and Viktor can get them copied by goblins. Then we send Kreacher to supervise the installation of the artefacts.'

'And we keep the Horcruxes...?'

'With Reg.'

Snape had an odd look on his face. 'Black, are you feeling well?'

Sirius's hand went to his wand, tensing as he expected Snape to draw and fire. Snape didn't. Rather, he was simply giving a speculative, faintly disturbed expression.

'Fine, why?'

'You're being clever.'

'Even a stopped clock is right twice a day, Snape.'

'True enough. And I expect you're volunteering?'

'Of course. It's not like I don't have enough to do.'

Snape rolled his eyes. 'I'm weeping for you inside, I assure you. How are the children faring?'

'Very well. Stressed.'

'I'd imagine they are. You think it will swing in our direction?'

'Yes. The ones who weren't convinced will do it because the ones that are won't play with them if they don't.'

'Germany?'

'Coming after. I wondered why France came with the others, but now we know.'

'And the rat?'

'Riding about in Scabior's waistcoat, as far as I know.'

Snape nodded tersely. 'I have not forgot my promise to you, Black.'

'I appreciate that.'

'And Slughorn?'

'Behaving himself, but for how long?'

'Tamm is holding up?'

'He is. Rita Skeeter came as well. Slughorn's Traver's great uncle, you know.'

'I'm aware. They share that family tendency to ramble on. Like yourself-I wonder whether you've any Travers in you?'

'No, nor Slughorn. The Princes, though, they had a bit of each.'

'I've no idea what you mean.'

'And some Black, I think.'

'No. Not a bit of Black.'

'That isn't what the family tree says.'

'Shut up.'

'Tetchy tonight.'

Snape went back to his food, glaring direfully. Sirius ate as well, and for some time there was only the sound of chewing and requests for Mippy to serve them this or that.

'And the girl?'

Sirius shook his head slowly. 'She sends you her best. And misses you, I think.'

'Sentimental child. But she is not slipping, Black?'

'I...she's fighting it, but it's there. When she was interrogating that man, the poisoner, it was...God. She never hit him. She didn't need to.'

'She was the one to do it? The boy didn't take over?'

'Scabior helped her. But she asked the questions.'

'Was she the one who decided on the show trial?'

'I don't know. They sent me to help Sose that night. I asked Draco outright and he refused to tell me.'

'Refused?'

'He said they all decided together.'

Snape looked away for a moment, and Sirius was surprised to see a flash of emotion darken his face. Only for a second, and Sirius was not wholly sure how to quantify what he saw, but he did see it, and it gave him pause.

'Snape?'

'What, Black?'

'Would it be easier if I transformed?'

'Only if I can kick you.'

Sirius stood up and changed into Salazar. He approached Snape, wagging to show he was friendly, and then sat down, lifting a paw. Snape glowered at him, eyebrows beetled fiercely.

'You look as much an arse in this form, you jackass of a git.'

Sirius rolled and came up, still wagging. Snape's face never changed, but his body slumped a little bit, and his voice was soft when he spoke.

'When Barty frightened her, she came to me.'

Sirius sat on his haunches and looked away. He could smell grief, and worry. That it was Snape didn't seem very important right now-he could have been any man worried for a child, any man who was scared to lose someone.

'No one ever comes to me for that. When they need something but...not for that, Black. Not for a very long time.'

Sirius could smell the sharpness of his pain. It was new and not new, something that was a part of him like his skin. He couldn't take in dog form, of course, but if he could have, he would have tried to find something to say about grief and been unable.

Sometimes friendship is simply sitting with someone else in silent despair, in grief and memory and a willingness to help them suffer by sharing whatever it is that is tormenting them. Snape dropped his head into his hands and breathed, and Sirius-Salazar laid down by his boot, put head on paws and did nothing, just breathed the other fellow's pain and took it in himself because sometimes that is what friends do.

The next day, false-Mulciber bowed himself into the presence of the Dark Lord. His knee creaked irritably as he rose, and the Dark Lord waved him negliegently into a chair.

'Archie! It has been too long, old friend.'

They spent an hour on small talk of various sorts-Dolohov's failing health was mentioned, as his liver was shutting down and his kidneys now required manual draining- and then false-Mulciber got to the point of the thing.

'My lord, Mcnair has acknowledged receipt of the order.'

'Excellent.'

'The consensus at the Ministry is that war is on the horizon. Does your lordship agree?'

'We do.'

'Perhaps the people would be succored by a display of your lordship's successes?'

The Dark Lord steepled his fingers. It was an odd gesture from the body of a teenage boy. He was quite broken out along the hairline, which made the oddness even stranger.

'How so, Archie? Speak freely.'

False-Mulciber detailed Snape's plan, improving it by showing the schematics he had drawn. Shacklebolt had always been a decent artist, and Mulciber more than decent; incongruously, his house was full of watercolours the man had done of baskets of fruit and Italian scenes of various sorts.

The Dark Lord beamed. 'Wonderful, Archie! We love it. You will superintend it personally?'

'I'd be honoured, my lord.'

They chatted a bit longer about Mulciber's ugly grandchildren and incidental things, and then false-Mulciber took his leave. As he was going, he smelt something powerful and foul. His head jerked up as the bloody bulk of Fenrir Greyback nearly crushed him into a wall.

'Pardons, Mulciber.'

'Greyback.'

Greyback snorted with laughter as he entered the chamber and slammed the door.


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB, and reviewers.**

**TRIGGER WARNING: There's a Slughorn section. Tamm is also there, and whilst nothing explicit happens, there is clear intent present. I have bolded the first line of that section, and also the last line. The next section does discuss what happened (not in depth), so if this is an issue, I recommend PMing for a summary that would skip those events entirely.**

**I used my no laptop time wisely-expect very regular updates for a while :)**

**A Judas goat is a creature, typically (surprise) a goat, used to lead other animals to their deaths at slaughterhouses by utilising the herd instinct. It also means a treacherous pretender, a flyer of false flags.**

Viktor knew they had them when Minister Tadic of Bosnia, a gentle soul if there was one, leapt to his feet and flung his goblet of ayran at Morreau. It bounced off the shield and splattered onto the floor, and Tadic, wavering voice rising, stabbed a bony finger at the defiant Frenchman.

'You Judas goat!'

The others roared approval and Viktor was forcibly reminded of the siege of Castle Krum, the sick moment he'd been sure the crowd would turn on Hermione and himself and give them to Stefan.

Beside him, his wife was radiant, all in cream and gold, a net of seed pearls in her hair. Her hand was shaking ever so lightly, but he half-suspected it was with excitement rather than nervousness.

Even the dogs were in on the act, packing together to bay at the well-shielded chair where Morreau was sitting, manacled and Silenced.

The elves were a phalanx above him, and the wolves ringed the courtyard in a silent wave, with Pavel grim-faced at their head. Viktor raised a hand and everyone fell silent. It was a heady thing, and it still rather startled him. 'My lords and

ladies-Ministers, I mean-we need to decide what's to happen quickly.

The sooner we've an idea, the sooner things will start occurring.'

The ministers sat down, looking a little abashed. Many had brought treats to the breakfast, so as people settled down, Viktor ate an

incredibly sweet pear and wondered what happened now. They could hardly bring everyone here to complain about an attempt on the lives of heads of state only to kill a head of state. Could they?

At the other end of the table, Uncle Penko caught his eye and winked. Uncle Rumen had his usual expression, but Viktor suspected he was pleased, as he'd laid a hand on Aunt Lyudmilla's arm lightly.

The Minister of Lithuania stood up. 'Lithuania needs no further time to consider, Lord Protector. We wish to join your army immediately.'

'Macedonia concurs.'

'Egypt concurs.'

'Greece concurs.'

'Montenegro concurs.'

'Albania concurs.'

'Latvia concurs.'

'Finland concurs.'

'Turkey concurs.'

'Estonia concurs.'

'Bosnia concurs.'

'Sweden defers voting.'

'Serbia defers voting.'

'Poland defers voting.'

'Norway defers voting.'

It wasn't perfect, but it could have been much worse, and Viktor knew that. He nodded slowly. 'Very well. On to the next issue. Minister Uncle, your remarks?'

Uncle Rumen stood up. 'My lord nephew, lady niece and ministers, Minister Tadic is quite right. Morreau came here under false pretences with every intention of committing a betrayal for his own gain. The laws of Bulgaria are clear when it comes to high treason, but this is not a matter purely to be decided by Bulgaria. I ask all of you to consider our recourse and give suggestions. My lord, may I open the floor?'

'Please do.'

The Finnish Minister stood. 'Normally I would suggest life imprisonment for this crime, but as that would set off an international incident, would it be possible to go to France-either your lordship personally or a delegation of us-to make a case to their governing body?'

Osma Pasha spoke. 'Minister, it is a good idea. But do to that is to show the Dark Lord that his part in this is known.'

'That letter' said the Polish minister 'is signed by Macweir, not the Dark Lord, Osma Pasha.'

'Mcnair, Walden Mcnair. I realise that, but does anyone here believe this Mcnair is not catspaw to the Dark Lord?'

'And there's the rub. A year ago, had someone said the same of Bellatrix Lestrange, Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy, would we not have said the same? I appreciate the Vicereine and the Seneschal love their parents-I've children of my own-but surely this bears some thought on our part?'

'A year ago Dementors had not slaughtered a village of women and children.'

Viktor sneaked a look at his wife and Drago, neither of whom were reacting. He mentally praised them both, and then went back to the debate.

'And if we should do this thing, Osma Pasha, and then what? When all is said and done, Krum has a standing army.'

'He's got one now.'

'Poland was none too pleased, I assure you, but reasonable men agree that desperate times sometimes excuse actions which are ambiguous at best. My question stands: are we simply making another Dark Lord?'

The Minister of Macedonia stood up. 'It's easy for you to indulge in abstractions, Minister. Macedonia and Bulgaria share a border. Where Bulgaria goes, Macedonia must follow. If we are to be under dominion, then surely it is better Krum than that maniac in Britain?'

Viktor stood. 'My wife and I have no intention of becoming Dark anything. We wish only to see Europe flourish and Egypt as well.'

'My lord, is not for me to doubt your sincerity. The Vicereine and yourself impress my wife and me as intelligent and talented young people. But the fact remains that your in-laws are known throughout Europe as powerful, ruthless Dark wizards. It gives us pause to consider what that same enormous strength might do yoked to unlimited power and no oversight. No man is the same at twenty as he was at

fifteen, or at forty as he was at twenty.'

'My paternal grandfather, sir, defied Gellert Grindelwald and wasburnt alive for it.'

'Your wife's own parents tortured those poor people to insanity.'

Hermione rose as smoothly as a fawn walking through a field. She looked beautiful and dangerous to him, eyes flashing, skin pale.

'My parents have done terrible things, Minister, no one denies that. They don't, and nor do I. But we are not them, and the civil war in Britain was not the potential world war looming over us now. There are choices to be made, as always, but we, not our parents, will make them.'

'Are we to believe that a girl of fifteen would refuse to obey an order from her father, should he see fit to give her one?'

Viktor sucked in breath. This was a trap lined with traps, to be sure. Would she say no, and seem weak? Or say yes, and look unfilial? Hermione didn't falter. She looked right at the minister, glowing in her gold and then answered him.

'I honour my parents, but my first responsibility to the people of Bulgaria, and my husband. My personal life and political life are not the same. Are they for you?'

The Polish minister flushed a bit. 'I am not fifteen.'

'Nor is the Vicereine. When I am she, I am ageless.'

'And when you are not?'

'There is no time I am not.'

The minister frowned a little. 'Then you are never fifteen?'

'Chronologically speaking, I am.'

Viktor bit his tongue. A glance at Uncle Penko confirmed he was doing likewise, and Aunt Lyudmilla was holding her handkerchief suspiciously close to her mouth. The Polish Minister sat down.

'I am feeling rather peaked, ministers. Perhaps we could re-convene later to discussthis and everything else?'

They filed out. Hermione was looking at Morreau, who was still shielded and manacled, still Silenced. 'What shall we do with him, Viktor?'

Viktor kissed the top of his wife's head. 'Leave him here to think about it.'

So they did.

Kreacher, meantime, was fighting his own war. Trailed by the moronic Norry, he gathered a small core of trusted elves about him in the kitchens, glaring balefully at them. Amongst them was Winky, who was twisting the edge of her towel and sniffling at being separated from her beloved Master Barty, even for a moment.

Norry threw back his head and wailed. 'NORRY IS A BAD ELF!'

Behind them, an elf dropped a pan of glasses, startled by the yelling. Another nearly tipped a whole cooked duck onto the floor and started to cry. A third slammed down a small keg of plum brandy and commenced howling like a hurt dog.

This started a chain reaction. Winky immediately began bawling. The elf that swept the inner courtyards joined her, and the one who filled the vases started punching himself in the eye, honking loud sniffles.

The other elves looked on the verge of joining in, until Kreacher raised his voice. 'SHUT UP, STUPID ELVES!'

The crying stopped. Kreacher rubbed his forehead, deciding he would drink butterbeer tonight. Yes, he would. 'Kreacher is giving out the assignments. Elves will meet Kreacher here later and Kreacher will debrief the elves.'

'What are elves doing, Kreacher?'

'Elves are doing their work as usual.'

Kreacher pulled out a number of tea-towels, worked in the Ministry crest. 'Elves are putting these on now .'

'New towels? It is not Christmas.'

'Towels have listening wires in the hem.'

One of the sweepers raised a hand. 'Elves is spies?'

Kreacher pulled himself to his full height. 'The Most Noble House of Black does not have spies!'

'Master is not a Black.'

'Mistress's mother is, and that is enough!' Kreacher fixed them all with a horrible grimace and they assented, muttering as they stripped off their old towels and donned the new ones. Stupid Norry just stood there, snuffling like a truffle-seeking pig.

'Norry has a special job. Come with Kreacher.'

Kreacher led Norry to the chair where Minister Morreau was still sitting. The elves had erected a sunshade so he didn't get sick, and brought water and fruit. Manacled, he sat glaring at nothing, moustaches bristling.

'Norry watches Minister Morreau. Norry does not speak to Minister Morreau unless spoken to. Norry tells Minister Morreau nothing. Understand?'

Kreacher grinned to himself as he slipped off, leaving Norry bellowing like a calf caught in a fence.

Hours later, Kreacher was brooding on one of the many things of which he did not approve (which could be a short book all on its own, by the way). One of the top ones was the practice space Mistress had set up in the basement.

It was quite a nice practice space, he had to admit, spacious, well-soundproofed and kitted out with padding, benches and medical supplies. The walls were scored with black streaks from spells gone awry, and a small table had goblets of water charmed to stay filled and ice-cold, and a plate of rolls and butter.

No, it was not the space Kreacher disapproved of. He frowned darkly as he appeared, dodged a jinx and waited. Master threw a curse back and it was deflected, hitting a wall harmlessly.

'Hmmph.'

'Hello, Kreacher!'

'Mistress is resting now.'

'Don't start that again, Kreacher, please?'

She gave him a sad-eyed look that moved him not a bit. This was what he disliked about this room. His Master and Mistress pushed themselves too hard, played with dangerous spells too casually, and failed to consider that they'd promised him lots of babies in a few years, babies that could be delayed by too much strain. He had to gently manipulate them into resting, and that was harder to do with such a convenient place to practice magic in.

'Kreacher is serving the Most Noble House of Black.'

'We know, Kreacher. How is it?'

Kreacher gave up nagging for the moment and held up the wires. 'Elves

are giving these to Kreacher.'

Master took them and grinned. 'It was a good plan, Kreacher.'

'Kreacher is living only to serve. Old now. Tired. 370 years of service, oh

yes. Service to the Most Noble House of-'

'If we sit down, will you stop?'

No. 'Kreacher has no idea what Master means.'

'Hermione?'

'He'll never stop. Let's sit down anyway.'

The two found a bench, and Mistress tapped the Listening wires in turn.

'-might hurt our trade franchise with the Estonians if-'

'-an invasion of Britain would plump our coffers-'

'-dangerous to refuse. We don't want a warlord with an army at our gates.'

Mistress harrumphed at the last one. 'We aren't either.'

'Kreacher gives them something in their drink?'

'No, Kreacher. No more poison, remember?'

'Kreacher is good at poison.'

'No poison.'

'What if Kreacher just makes them sick?'

'No, Kreacher.'

'Used to be very fashionable, poison.'

'No, no, no.'

He'd find a way to convince them later. As it was, he brooded and listened.

'- subsidies? The invasion could make us rich as goblins if we play our cards right. Our manticore scales for their kelpie hairs, perhaps?'

'-gives me the creeps. Cold eyes, and she's even worse. I wonder what the mothers are like?'

'- do you think, my little piglet?'

'Oh, my big strong lion!'

There were more noises on that one, but Kreacher was indifferent. Humans, it was well-known, made awful sounds when they mated, and some were not especially choosy about who was there, at least when it came to elves.

Mistress turned it off. 'Well, that sounds like Serbia and Poland are on board. Is there anything from Sweden or Norway, Kreacher?'

'Not yet, Mistress.'

Master raised a brow. 'It will be very awkward, seeing them at dinner,

won't it?'

'Extremely. Kreacher, would you ask Norry to seat them at the other end of the table?'

'Hermione, really.'

'Do you have a better idea?'

He raised a brow again, this time wriggling it. 'As it happens, I do.

My little piglet.'

'I'm going to hex you.'

'What, no big strong lion?'

'I'm counting to three. One, one and a quarter, one and a half…'

'She's pretending, Kreacher.'

'In the arm or the leg, Viktor? One and three quarters, two, two and one eighths…'

'Suppose I chased you instead?'

'I would run, but very slowly.'

'You'd let me catch you.'

'It would be a trap.'

'And then you'd hex me?'

'Twice. Two and a quarter…'

'She won't Kreacher, you'll see.'

'Two and a half, two and three quarters…'

Master bent and kissed her, and Kreacher, sensing this was a good time, withdrew himself, shaking his head. Humans and their weird mating customs, he thought, standing guard at the door as the noises started.

**Meanwhile, Anu was readying himself to go**. Sirius was away this time, but that was all right. Madam Skeeter was there with him, and Drago said he'd be all right. He hugged his Nene, kissed Yana's forehead as a goodbye, and stepped through the Floo, one hand protectively holding his pocket closed so Madam Skeeter wouldn't get blown away.

Slughorn was in his parlour, waiting for him. He shuffled forward, smiling, and Anu mentally girded himself. He touched the evil eye bead he carried for good luck and bowed.

'_Hello, Professor.'_

'_Hello, Tamm. Do sit down. No Salazar today?'_

'_Salazar eat a chicken. It is bad, and now he is sick. He stay with Nene to make all better his stomach.'_

'_Got one of your chickens, did he?'_

'_No, a baked chicken. It is not good for eating and make him sad.'_

This had apparently happened at one point, and Anu figured it was as good a reason as any that Sirius-Salazar couldn't be there.

Slughorn nodded and motioned for him to come and sit. '_What did we say we would do today, chapter ten?'_

'_Yes, sir.'_

Slughorn joined him on the divan as Anu pulled out his reader and enlarged it. He opened it, feeling the man's eyes on his skin, feeling his mouth hot and slick with saliva, his hands damp. His toes kept curling and uncurling in his shoes. Opening the reader, he got to work.

Slughorn's eyes were crawling over his skin. Like worms, he thought dizzily, forcing himself to read. Reading gave him a headache, sometimes, but Healer Yokov said he had to practice or it would never improve.

Slughorn's breath was hot on his neck. '_Is it bothering you? Your eye?_' Anu's fingers tightened on his reader.

'_A little.'_

'_May I see it? The bad one?'_

Anu turned his head and flipped up his eye-patch. He usually didn't mind showing his bad eye—the children at the Ministry liked to see it and hear the story about his encounter with a werewolf. Yana sometimes worriedly stroked the orbital bone, asking whether it hurt. It was just a closed eye, after all, and didn't bother him unduly.

Not now. Slughorn was looking at him with a sharp avidity that made his skin creep, like ants were crawling across it with their tiny feet. Slughorn's hand reached out and touched his chin, tipping his head up and brushing over the closed lid with a tip of the pad of a finger.

Anu swallowed hard, fighting not to pull back, feeling Rita Skeeter trying to escape his pocket. Slughorn would go no further, he told himself desperately, and they had to know what he had done. What had he told the Dark Lord? A lot of people would die if they didn't find out, and Anu, knowing that, made a choice. He didn't pull away, and he held the pocket shut gently. She stopped.

Slughorn's voice was soft. '*_I once knew a boy like yourself, Anu. A brave boy, who hungered to know things, who sought out knowledge.*'_

'_*What knowledge?'*_

'_*He wanted to understand all things.*'_

Anu gently tugged back his head. _'*Magic?*'_

'_*There are many kinds of magic. I could show you.*'_

Anu could sense a divide, a yawning chasm opening beneath his feet. So many people could die if they didn't find out what Slughorn had done…but he'd sworn he wouldn't let the man touch him, and had gone too far like it was.

'_*Who was he? The boy?*'_

'_*It was long ago. But you remind me of him in some ways. He refused to allow unfortunate circumstances to define him. He rose above them.*'_

Anu felt like Slughorn was sharing a secret with him, and it made him sick. He didn't want to share secrets with this man, and he wanted to bathe. How far could he afford to take this? How far could he afford not to?

Slughorn looked down. _'*His hands. I remember, he had such clever hands. Wore this ring on his left, used to twist it. I could tell his mind was working at tremendous speed by the way he moved that ring.*'_

'_*What did it look like?*'_

'_*A big grey stone. It's been so long.*'_

Slughorn shook his head as though to clear it. _'*Shall we work on chapter eleven?*'_

**They did.**

Anu didn't go back to the Ministry right away. He went to Castle Borev, and sought out Barty, who was sitting with Yana and the cooing, walking Edric, and half-flung himself at the older man, who rose at once, seeing his face, and hugged him back silently.

Yana came and hugged him too. 'Anu?'

He touched her hair gently. 'It's alright, Yana.'

She tipped her head up quizzically, and seeing how trustingly she was looking at him, worrying about him, decided him. He went back to the Floo after the others had settled and went to the Ministry to tell them what he knew.

Lemuel Scabior had never liked this business with Slughorn. He was the first to admit, gleefully, that he was a bad man, but he had never hurt a child or given it to a woman who didn't want it, and the thought of someone behaving indecently toward a kid enraged him completely.

So when he saw Tamm came through looking like he'd seen his own death, Scabior made the most logical conclusion, which is to say he stood up and decided he'd feed the old pervert his own bollocks before he cut out his heart if what he thought had happened.

'Tamm? What's doins?'

'I went and saw Slughorn. Is Viktor about? Or Drago?'

'E tried t touch you, did e?'

'Sort of.'

'P'fessor Snape is ere. You wants me t calls im?'

'Yes! I mean, please. I'm all right. Really, I am.'

'You aint.'

'Am.'

'Aint.'

Snape and Black both came, and both of them reached the same

conclusion at the same instant. Snape stiffened, mouth tightening, and Black's hands fisted at his sides.

'Kid? What happened?'

Tamm sat down on the divan. 'It wasn't much. I mean, nothing…nothing…'

And then he brought a hand to his face and sniffled into his hand, rubbing his good eye. Black sat down next to him and put his arms about him, squeezing gently.

'Nothing you did was wrong or bad. Did he touch you…there?'

'Uh uh. He wanted to see my bad eye so I showed him and he said he could teach me things. And he knew someone who was like me.'

'Like you how, Tamm?'

'Don't know. Bad circumstances.'

'Anything else?'

'He had a ring. The boy. Used to twist it.'

Snape's jagged face was taut. 'Did he tell you the name, Tamm?'

'No, sir.'

'Where is Rita Skeeter?'

Tamm pulled his pocket open and the beetle flew out and resolved into Madam Skeeter, smoothing her skirts. Snape rounded on her, voice silky smooth and dangerous.

'Madam Skeeter. Perhaps you would be so good as to tell us why you did not intervene?'

She gave it right back to him, to her credit. 'Because as soon as I prepared to, Tamm had the situation well in hand.'

'Yes, and that is why he is so disturbed now.'

'He asked exactly the right questions and got answers to them.'

'He is shaking.'

'It was frightening.'

'I didn't let her. Held my pocket shut. We have to end it. Going to be a war soon. A lot of people will die.'

Black hadn't let go of the kid, not that Tamm seemed to mind.

'Yeah, kiddo, there is, but that was a big risk you took.'

'It's me or them. In England. Lots of kids there younger than me.'

Snape had subsided a little. 'Perhaps I was a bit hasty, madam.'

She bobbed and withdrew, perhaps to bathe the memory away. Once upon a time, the thought of a nude Rita Skeeter would have driven Scabior to desire, and anger, and bloodlust; now, though, he was married, and Alise was all the woman he needed.

Snape, meantime, leant down and swatted the kid's head. Not hard, but not gently, either. Tamm seemed to like it; he rested against Black but beamed at Snape, too. Scabior understood completely; like Arco, Tamm felt safest with someone to give him the business when needed.

'What could you possibly have been thinking?'

'The Dark Lord's got Aunt Hetty and the baby.'

'He might have hurt you.'

'Aunt Hetty could die, and all the others. And the English.'

'I ought to beat you to within an inch of your life.'

Tamm shook his head seriously. 'You wouldn't.'

'No?'

'No.'

Snape glowered, and Scabior bit his lip to keep from laughing, because of course Tamm was right. Snape would storm and rage and probably reduce the kid to tears verbally, but he'd no more give him a beating than he'd set himself on fire.

'Anu' said Black softly 'Snape is right. That was dangerous, kid. Slughorn is good at doing this. He's crafty.'

'He only touched my face, Sirius. Not so bad.'

'He touched your face to start with. He wouldn't try all at once. Do you know the story about the frog in the hot water, Anu?'

Tamm shook his head as Snape sat on his other side, still scowling darkly at no particular thing. It was, as Scabior remembered, his default expression.

'If you put a frog in a pan of cold water, he likes it. If you slowly heat the pan, a little at a time, he never notices he's boiling to death until it's too late.'

'Oh.'

'You had the right impulse, I promise you did. But kiddo, the adults don't want him to hurt you.'

'What about the others, though? I went and saw Barty and Yana. If there's a war, they could die. And Nene, and everyone else.'

Black nodded. 'Yeah. But Snape is working to make sure they won't. And what Slughorn knows is important, but there are ways that won't risk your safety to find out what he did. Have I ever told you about my brother Regulus?'

Tamm shook his head no. Black's normally cheery face was smooth and solemn.

'He reminded me a little of you, actually. You of him, I mean. And the thing is, Anu that-'

He never finished. Young Malfoy, face flushed, flung open the door.

'Godfather? Thank God you're here. Weasley's contacted us.'

Snape stood up. 'What?'

'Arthur Weasley. He wants to talk to us.'


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**When I said regular, I meant it, y'all :)**

**And now the elephant in the room finally gets mentioned...**

Severus Snape was not a man who liked to be touched. Still, he had somehow found himself giving two consecutive embraces in no fewer than a quarter of an hour, and now from the look the girl was giving him, was destined for a third.

Still, it was not unpleasant, he supposed, as she put her arms about him and hugged tightly. He hugged her back, giving her a few awkward pats, and then she released him and was all business.

'Professor, it's so good to see you.'

'And yourself, Vicereine. Your parents sent letters and their deepest affections. My lord Krum, likewise.'

'News of my grandmother, Professor?'

'She sent a letter as well, and humbly desires your prayers.'

'That bad?'

Snape wished he could spare the boy the truth, that he felt Elisaveta was in the starting phase of a fatal decline. She had taken to her bed more often than not, stopped eating, seemed to be losing focus on this world.

'Yes. She is at peace, I believe, and looks forward to seeing your mother again.'

'Would you carry a message back to her?'

'Of course.'

He nodded, lips pursed. His hair, noticed Snape, was sprinkled with silver now. Penko, of course, had greyed early, so perhaps it meant nothing. But he doubted it. This was marking them all.

Malfoy Jr, on the other hand, looked far better than he had. The Kask girl no doubt helped with that, and a sense of purpose. In a tunic and high boots, he almost vibrated with energy and a sort of dark good nature that was disturbing Snape. It reminded him too much of Bellatrix, and he resolved to speak with his godson to check that his mind was not damaged.

They gathered about him, waiting, and Snape finally motioned them all toward the family chambers. 'Perhaps we might sit down?'

'How did you come to be here, Professor?'

'My elf is Polyjuiced as myself, my lady, and Kreacher brought Black and me both.'

At the door to the family quarters, Snape turned to the small throng that had gathered-Tamm, Scabior, both Kasks, Vata, Arco and a few others-and shook his head.

'I would prefer to speak to my lord and lady privately and then call people a few at a time.'

The crowd, such as it was, dispersed, and Snape closed the door behind himself. The two young people sat down, and he joined them, feeling inexpressibly tired, and fearful of this new wrinkle. He felt old, he realized, and didn't care much. He had lived a thousand long years and would live thousands more before things had taken their course.

He briefed them on what had happened in Britain. 'I thought I could be of some use in dealing with Morreau.' And though he wouldn't admit it, he'd wanted to see them again, check their health, find something to scold them about. Could it be that Severus Snape, spymaster of Britain, missed them? No, he told himself immediately, sentimental nonsense.

'And now the exiles.'

'Arthur Weasley is a fair man. I never knew him well, but he seemed to be bright enough, if artless. It should be easy to deal with him.'

'Should' said the girl, whey-faced. 'Was he part of the Order, Professor?'

Snape felt like he'd been punched. The Order. Of course the girl would be upset. He could never let the truth be known, of course. It would kill her. It would kill them all. It had killed the muggles already, and knowledge of who had struck the fatal blow would surely accelerate the process of the girl's descent.

There would be no descent, Snape decided, focusing his great will on this one point of light. He would make sure of it, and do whatever it took to keep her from it, and from the hideous details of the muggles' final hours. If he had to kill everyone associated with it-save possibly her parents-if he had to bribe every auror in Britain, if he had to…he shook his head to clear it. He wouldn't let it ruin her life more than it had, and that was final.

'My lady, perhaps we could discuss matters at a later time?'

She nodded. 'All right, Professor.' She stood up. 'If neither of you minds, I'd like a walk to clear my head.'

The boy spoke. 'As long as you'd like, love.'

She slipped from the room, a ghost in crimson and cream. Krum was looking at him evenly, hands folded. Snape had a sudden premonition that he knew, knew everything. Snape dipped his head, smiling inside. He would never have his own son, but between Draco and this big, smart, ruthless young man, he felt his legacy would be well-remembered. And if neither of them bore his name, all the better. Tobias Snape deserved no continuance of his miserable family line.

'I have always found the accounts of that night curious, sir.'

'Oh?'

'It is odd to me that the Order would take time fleeing a falling country to abduct or kill two harmless muggles sleeping in their beds. Do you think so?'

'Most curious.'

'I have never broached that with my wife, of course. If someone should do, I would be most perturbed.'

Was Krum threatening him? Snape almost laughed aloud, pleased and yes, perhaps proud, proud of how far Krum would go to see his little spy-the girl that he dreamed was his and Lily's, the girl whom he entrusted to her to protection every night before he slept-was safe emotionally and mentally.

'As would I. I do, however, expect your wife might wish to speak to me about this.'

'You are her godfather, essentially. It would ease her mind.'

'No doubt it would. I have never lied to my lady.'

'No, but the wise man keeps his own council.'

'And the fool's mouth hurries him to ruin. Quintus of Smyrna, no?'

'Indeed.'

'Has she ever mentioned any…discomfort with the prevailing theory?'

Krum considered, frowning a little. 'She does not need to. As intelligent as Hermione is, I believe she has probably entertained doubts.'

'Never aloud?'

'In her sleep, once or twice, she has cried for one of them. But she loves her parents, Professor, all of them.'

'And they her. All of them.'

Snape wondered whether they would take it back if they could, the Lestranges. They loved the girl so much they had defied the Dark Lord for her. But the muggles? Would they have let them live if they'd known it would turn out like this?

'Love can drive us to do desperate things, Professor. Sometimes it is as terrible as it is wonderful.'

Snape flashed on the long-ago conversation with the girl at Castle Krum, the flakes in her hair. 'My lady once said that love is really very frightening.'

Krum smiled sadly. 'I expect she would know. And my in-laws.'

'I shan't disagree.'

Hermione, meantime, was wandering through the quiet corridors, hoping to meet no one, wishing for solitude so she could process this. She rounded a corner and nearly collided with Scabior who, with Lady, was patrolling. She jerked back, gasping, and Scabior bowed.

'Milady?'

'Hello, Scabior.'

'You awrite? You doan looks it, if you doan minds me sayin.'

'I'm…well, it's a hard time.'

He was giving her a sceptical, penetrating look that reminded her a little too clearly of the day he'd dragged her to her father. She blushed a little, thinking of it, and called for Kreacher.

'Scabior, have you got a moment?'

They ducked into a niche and she warded it and then faced him. He was, she thought bemused, her oldest…well, not quite a friend, but something…in the Wizarding world.

'The Order is coming.'

'Yeah, Snape sed.'

'They, ah, killed my…'

'I remember when that appened. I was awful sorry you found out as you did.'

'Thank you. I will have to sit with them, and be polite, but they…they killed…or someone killed…'

Scabior said nothing, and Hermione inhaled. 'Do you know anything about that?'

'Know anythin bout…?'

'You've never heard anything about what might have happened to them?'

'S'pecifcally, you means, milady?'

'Yes. Which ones did it, or anything like that.'

Scabior cocked his head. 'P'rmission to speaks?'

'Please.'

'Stop it rite this second, girl.'

Hermione blinked, startled. 'Sorry?'

'Stop it. You aint elpin them none, and you aint doin yerself no gud. You remember I wents to the ouse to see what'd become a them?'

'I do. The picture of my Nan.'

'Yeah. Yer pitcher were all over the walls. Them muggles luved you something fierce. You think it's makin em appy, watchin you diggin at the wound this way? Eh?'

'No, but-'

'You think they wants you to werry bout this, when you aint been sleepin gud or eatin gud?' She had had very little sleep since the conference started, and food was catch as catch can at best. She hadn't thought anyone noticed.

'No, but it isn't-'

'Aint what?'

'I abandoned them.' She dropped her eyes, biting her lip hard to keep from crying. It was said. She'd admitted it-that she had chosen to simply pretend it had never happened, denied their death rather than deal with it.

Scabior made a noise. 'Naw.'

'I did.'

'You aint.'

'I don't talk about them.'

'You doan needs t. Sum things is private. I doan talks much bout me sister, but it doan means I doan luvs er and miss er. Jus means I keeps er to meself.'

Hermione swallowed hard. 'I've done things, Scabior. They wouldn't like it.'

'Yer parents do? Ell, girl, you thinks I do, or yer usband, or Snape? Aint none of us like it, but it aint nothing on you nor them. Jus did what ad t be done, is all. Yer muggle parents knows that.'

'They taught me to be gentle and kind.'

'An you is. War is ard, girl. It aint like you dun these thins fer fun.'

'I know but-'

Scabior shook his head. 'No, you doan. Every time yer nice t sumone you aint needs t be, yer showin the world ow gud they raised you. They knows it and you knows it, an t ell with anyone sez anything else t you bout it. They aint lived it, you did.'

Hermione could see truth in that. 'Yes. Yes, that's true. But if you did know something, would you tell me?'

'You member that day you tried t gets outs a Hogwarts?'

'I do.'

'Why'd I stops you?'

'My parents would have been upset if you hadn't.'

'Yeah, but why else? What'd I tells you?'

'There were bad men about.'

'Rite. Because I dint wants you to gets urt. An I'm tellin you, sure as sure, them as did this aint never gunna tells you ow it actually was. Jus give offerins and know ow proud they are of you, girl. An us.'

Hermione nodded again, tired suddenly. 'Thank you.'

'You gunna be awrite?'

'I think so. I'm going to walk a bit.'

'If I shud sees Snape, should I sends im t you?'

'If you would. Thank you, Scabior.'

He grinned elfishly. 'S'the least I kin do.'

As it happened, Snape was looking for her, and so Hermione had gone less than a hundred metres were she saw his familiar black-clad form billowing down the corridor like a bad omen. She smiled a little and walked faster, waving. Snape's head snapped once in a nod, and he stopped, seeming to pull together into an inky approached him and startled herself by flinging her arms about him.

She wasn't a child anymore, she reminded herself as she held on, closing her eyes. Snape never smelt of anything intentional—sometimes he had a comfortingly herbal smell, or a dank, rooty trace, but never a scented soap or cologne that she had ever huffed softly above her.

'Am I correct in assuming that something is wrong?'

She shook her head, not moving, just holding on and breathing reached up and gave her a few awkward pats on the back.

'Surely we needn't do this here?'

Hermione separated from him and led him to the same niche she had occupied with Scabior. He had gone off to continue his patrol, or back to his flat. Snape sat down and Hermione sat next to him, Kreacher appearing to scowl at them.

'I was talking to Scabior.'

'Often quite time-consuming, but rarely offensive. What was the topic?'

'My muggle parents.''I see.'

Snape's normally neutral expression changed ever so faintly, in no definable way. He just seemed a little different for a second. Hermione nodded and yielded to her impulse to rest her head on his shoulder. She felt safe like this. It brought her back to a time when she was younger, and he had reassured her about this same topic.

'I was asking him if he'd ever heard anything about what happened.'

'What did he tell you?'

Hermione summarized the conversation for him. Snape reached slowly down and put an awkward hand on her back for a moment.

'Scabior is not educated, but he does have a species of native good sense. He advised you truly, I daresay.'

'I'm just supposed to let it go?'

Snape patted, clearly not sure what to do. 'You're supposed to accept that you cannot save everyone.'

'They were my parents.'

'And still are, but honour them by respecting that they would not wish you to torment yourself. Scabior is correct in that those responsible will never say as much.'

'Didn't you hear anything?' She raised her head a little and Snape frowned sharply at her, bas-relief face twisting.

'What did I just say?'

'What did I?'

'I miss the days when you were afraid of me. It was easier then to cow you.'

Hermione laughed and rested against him again, letting her eyes drift closed. 'You never did.'

'Bah, the first-years were terrified of me. You wept yourselves to sleep at night, thinking of my class.'

'I liked your class. We learnt a lot.'

'You were shaking with terror every second.'

'I liked sparring with you.'

'There was no sparring. I terrorised you.'

Hermione shook her head. 'Not me. Neville.'

'Longbottom, yes.'

'Why?'

Snape was still patting her back intermittently. 'How fast did the Death Eaters take over, my lady? Do you recall?'

She bit her lip and tried to remember, but her memories of that time were a child's, and hazed with grief and terror. 'Less than a week?'

'About ten hours. Do you suppose it happened spontaneously?'

'No, Professor.'

'Longbottom would not have lasted in that environment. It was my aim to toughen you all, should you need it. And you did.'

'Do you suppose he'll be there? Neville?'

'No, but Augusta might. His grandmother. You are aware that they will not see things as you do, as regards your parents?'

'I am. We've talked about it. Father and Mother and me.'

'What do you think?'

Hermione wasn't sure, even now. 'I don't know.'

Snape stopped patting for a second. 'That comforts me.'

'Why?'

'You need not. There were evils on both sides.'

'They shouldn't have hurt his parents like that, Professor.'

'No. Like you've said, love can be terrifying.'

Something occurred to her. It had always been there, inside her mind, like a tentacle waiting to emerge from a dark wet place. 'You don't think they hurt my mu-?'

Snape's hand left her back and cupped her chin, jerking her head a little, interrupting. 'Look at me, girl.'

Then she didn't remember, and that was all right.

Hermione was safe. Snape was with her, and he'd put his arms round her, holding her against her. She was crying, crying hard, and she didn't feel funny about it. She'd known him longest of anyone in her life, and he'd seen her cry before. Her chest hurt, and her face was sore. Above them, Kreacher was shirring softly, sounding agitated.

Her tears were winding down, and she burrowed into his chest, breathing deeply. Snape was unmoving, holding her, saying nothing. He was bony, and smelt of nothing, but that was just Snape.

'Professor?'

'Hush, you silly child.'

She smiled a little and relaxed. Love can be terrifying, but sometimes it can be pretty wonderful as well.

Barty thought so, anyway. He was sitting with Sose, his lap desk perched on his sharp knees, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth as he drew a careful picture of Apples and Edric together to send to Rab and Gennie.

Edricwaddled confidently toward him, arms outstretched. 'Up!'

Barty set down his crayons and lifted the baby.

'Edric! How are you?''

Good. Doggie.'

He pointed to Goose, who was lazing before the hearth, splayed on his back like a roué. Barty kissed his cheek gently and smiled, filled with pride. Edric kissed back, sticky little mouth pressed to the place beside Barty's nose.

'Yes, Edric! That's Goose.'

'Doggie. Anu?'

'Soon. Where's Aunt Sose?'

Edric pointed at Sose and squealed joyfully. Sose put up her head and waved at him, smiling. She looked differently when she smiled like that. Not afraid, thought Barty, feeling a little sad. He was vaguely aware that bad things had happened to her, and he wished he could ask, and explain that he knew some things about that. He didn't, though—it might scare her worse, or make her sad. Instead, he waved at Winky,who handed Edric his stuffed kneazle.

The baby toddled to Sose, chattering and giggling. Sose lifted him and set him on her 's heart cramped suddenly. If things had happened differently, he'd have had a wife and a child and they'd sit by the hearth together like this, and write letters, and elves would bring hem pumpkin juice.

'Sose?'

'Mmm?'

He frowned slightly, trying to find words. 'Sometimes it would be nice if things were different.'

'Different?'

'Yes. If things hadn't…' He sighed deeply, not sure how to proceed. Sose seemed to understand, though. She nodded, eyes dark. Was she remembering her bad things?

She was, Barty thought, very pretty. If things were different…he bent and gently kissed her cheek 's eyes widened.

'I…'

'Don't be afraid. I won't ever hurt you.'

'I know.'

'Would you like some violet sweets?'

She nodded, a trifle shakily, and sat down, baby in her arms. Barty wished he could allay her fears. If things were different, he thought, eyes burning, I wouldn't be broken and she wouldn't be afraid. But they weren't different, so he gave her some sweets and told her stories to cheer her up.

Two hours later, Barty was surprised when Sev came, with Anu and Salazar. Thrilled, but surprised and disconcerted. Was something wrong in England? It had to be, if he was here. And Anu didn't look quite right, sort of pale. Still, Barty was glad to see them, and smiled and hugged them all and then stepped back, eyeing Sev critically.

'You look too thin, Sev.'

'Has the girl been paying people to say that? If so, I shall double it immediately.'

'Double it what?'

'Whatever it takes so that I do not need to hear it any more.'

'Then you need to eat.'

Sev gave him a look and Barty grinned, pushing down his worry. If Sev was here, then whatever was wrong was being handled. Just to be sure, though, Barty said as casually as he could 'Rab and Gennie?'

'Are well, and send letters to you both. Edric?'

'He's in bed. Do you want to see him?'

Sose greeted them and then went to lie down, Salazar behind her like he was guarding her. Barty smiled a little at him in thanks, since he couldn't walk her like usual, and then showed the sleeping baby to his dearest friend that wasn't Rabastan.

After, they walked outside. The moon was just rising, and the goats were in their pen for the night. Barty pointed out Apples, and Sev obligingly fed her a handful of grass. He seemed rather more grumpy than warranted when she tried to eat his shirt, but that was Sev, so Barty didn't mind very much.

'Is everything all right, Sev?'

'I should hope so, Barty.'

'You aren't in England.'

'No?'

Barty giggled. 'We don't have any goats there!'

'I'd forgot. Things are rather tense at the moment.'

'Because He's angry with us.'

'Yes.'

Barty nodded. 'You know someone tried to poison us?'

'I'd heard about that. What happened?'

Barty didn't like thinking about that day, but he was supposed to watch and listen, so he told Sev.

'The elves passed out ayran. Edric and Rada were in my lap. She took a sip and then she fell over and started to shake. Some of the others, too. She was throwing up everywhere. And wee'd on me.'

'What happened then?'

'I threw Edric's cup away and set him down so I could pick her the elves came, and everyone, and healers, and they took her away. Salazar helped them find Blagoev, you know. The man who did it.'

'Were you there when they brought him in?'

Barty shook his head immediately. 'No! Scabior had him, and Paavo. Viktor wanted to go but I wouldn't let him. Not then.'

'Wouldn't let him?'

'Sev, do you remember when we hurt the Longbottoms? Rab and Rodolphus and Trixie and me?'

'I do.'

'I was afraid Viktor would hurt Blagoev that way if he went then. He's almost the age I was. Is that right?'

'Yes.'

'So I told him not to, and hugged him, and he promised he wouldn't.'

'What did he say?'

'I told him that it's what made me broken, so he shouldn't because he'd end up like me. And he looked sad and told me he wouldn't do it.'

Sev nodded, looking across the garden. 'I'm glad you intervened, Barty. It's good you did.'

Barty thought about it a moment. 'Sev? Do you ever worry about the others?'

'The children?'

'Mmm hmm.'

'Sometimes I do. Is it something specific?'

Barty couldn't quite make the words go like he wanted. Would Big, Sad Barty come when he was called? He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember what it felt like to be him.

'Draco is not well. His mind hurts. Not like mine. Not yet.'

'Are you afraid he'll do something bad, Barty?'

'Yes. He's not…he's afraid now, and he wants it to stop. Hurting them won't make it stop, Sev.'

'Hurting whom, Barty?'

'Anyone. It was all for nothing. The Bad Thing was all for nothing. Wasn't it?'

Sev looked terribly sad, like he knew that and didn't want to say.

'Yes.'

Barty dropped his head into his hands and moaned. 'Oh. Oh.'Then he put his head up. Crying wouldn't fix it, being brave would.

'How can I help them?' He meant the children, so they wouldn't be broken like him.

'I wish I knew, Barty.'

'Can we sit here and be sad a while, Sev?'

Sev clapped his shoulder, and the two old friends sat under the sickly light of the moon, far from their own land, and grieved together.


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers**

**Spoiler A/N at the bottom.**

**Realised I forgot to give credit: In 32, when Bellatrix and Nagini are having a fashion moment, Bellatrix quotes Benjamen Britten's 'The Rape of Lucretia.' It's one of my favourite operas, so I feel pretty badly about it. :(**

**Also, for whatever reason, occasionally words get deleted from sentences, apparently by the website. I apologise for the lack of clarity-if anyone knows how to fix it, please PM immediately.**

Someone had been crying, and it wasn't Snape. He smelt like tears, all right, but his face was as sallow-pale as ever, and his own smell-a low, hard smell like fresh soap and bread-had not changed to indicate that Snape had wept.

As the plonker got closer, Sirius could smell the other signs-perfume, and something young and feminine. Hermione, then, had been crying, and Snape had comforted her.

'Snape?'

'Dog?'

'Is she all right?'

Snape took the glass of slivov the elf handed him. 'The English are coming.'

'I rather thought we were here.'

'Not us, you twat! The exiles.'

'I know that. I was trying to lighten the mood. You know, humour? Making others laugh?'

'Once again, your timing is impeccable. 'She believes the Order killed her muggle foster parents.'

Sirius inhaled sharply. 'Oh, God, I didn't even think about that.'

'How surprising.'

'She hasn't…'

'Hasn't what, Black?'

'Figured out it was Bellatrix and Rodolphus?'

'No, she has. She asked me just a few moments ago, actually.'

Sirius shook his head. 'That poor kid. What did you tell her?'

'I lied, you idiot. What, you thought I'd tell her the truth? I am a cruel man, I have never pretended otherwise, but even I would not shatter her life that way.'

'This is fucked up. All this sneaking and lying and pretending, this is what comes of us.'

'What, Black, lying to reassure a traumatized child?'

'Will you tell her when she's older?'

'No. I Legimilised her.'

'You what?'

'Assured that she will never make the connexion, and never believe it even if it's pointed out to her.'

Sirius stood. 'She trusted you, Snape!'

'She still does. I have sworn to protect her from harm, and that includes knowing things that can only bring her anguish.'

'And that's your call to make?'

'Someone had to, Black. If you wish to tax someone with this, I suggest your darling cousins. They went with the others, and Malfoy never spoke a word against it. We all knew what they brought that night.'

'So what, you're just going to let her keep living the lie?'

'Yes, and so are you. What's the alternative, precisely?'

'There has to some solution that wouldn't involve tinkering with her m-'

He didn't finish. Snape had risen, and more quickly than Sirius would have credited, shoved him into the closest wall, wand to his Adam's apple, fingers digging into his clavicle with iron force.

'Shut up.'

'Snape, I-'

'You and your principles, Black. Tell me, where were you when the girl kept asking if the muggles left because they didn't love her anymore? Did you have to listen to her fears and allay them? Narcissa did. She knows what your cousins did and said nothing-are you going to tell the girl that?'

'No. I didn't-'

'What about Krum? He's guessed. Will you make sure she knows that? It would be honest.' Snape's fingers were digging into him with terrible force. Sirius squirmed violently.

'Snape, stop!'

'If you want to torment someone, choose a person who merits it.' Snape released him, stepped back, sunken chest heaving. Sirius relaxed a little, breathing hard himself.

'What the fuck was that?'

Snape sat back down and Sirius, cautiously, joined him. Snape was silent, just drank a little, and then said softly 'It is her only chance at a normal life, Black. Surely you see that.'

'I wasn't about to march off and spill my guts to her, Snape.'

'Yes, because it's totally out of character for you to go off impulsively and make things worse for everyone.'

Sirius stiffened a little. 'I've paid for that.'

'Haven't we all?'

Sirius's legs were shaking. 'Fine, assume that this is the right course. How will you keep the others from telling?'

'They fear her. And me.'

'What about the Death Eaters? Trixie and Rod didn't go alone, you said it yourself.'

'Of course they didn't, but the ones who did are easily discredited. Travers, Jugson, a handful of others all thankfully on the opposite side. If they should try anything, it will be easy to convince the girl it was simple cruelty.'

'And just like that, it's over?'

'No. The girl will always be haunted by this, to some degree, but it will hopefully spare her the worst of the pain. And one does suppose the muggles wouldn't want her brooding on their end, gruesome as it was.'

Sirius shook his head slowly, trying to clear it. 'It seems wrong.'

'What, Black, you think this is a fairy story? The knight saves the princess and the wicked are punished? It's not. The wicked prosper and the good are crushed beneath them, but perhaps we might save whatever small sense of emotional stability that child has got left, if it sits well with your high morals.'

'Hermione really thought they left her on purpose?'

'Trying to change the subject won't work with me, I taught eleven year olds. And yes, she spent several years worrying we would do the same. Lucius confided in me about how concerned they were about it.'

'You must've worked hard to help her feel better.'

'Krum did it, mainly.'

'And you.'

'Her parents, of course. And Narcissa, bless her. She is a very good mother, from my observation.'

'She is, too. But you helped as well?'

'Madam Krum has always known she could count on my council and help.'

Sirius rolled his eyes and sipped his own slivov.

'Yes, that's it exactly. Comrades working toward a common goal, that's all.'

'What exactly are you driving at, Black?'

Sirius set down his glass and gave the greasy, smirking git who was his best friend a hard look quite unlike his usual one.

'I conceed, Snape, that the longer I think about it, the more you seem to be right about Legilimising Hermione. I don't like it, but it's the lesser of several evils. Do you say so?'

'I do.'

'Now it's your turn to make a concession to me.'

'Rot in hell.'

'It's more than comradeship, isn't it?'

'I've no idea what you mean, Black.'

'She came to you because she was struggling with all this.'

'We met by pure chance.'

'Bollocks. I've seen her do it. She wants you when she's upset.'

'We have known one another for years. I am her old teacher. And her husband was occupied.'

'Oh, she thinks he hung the moon, don't worry about that. But it wasn't Viktor she wanted, it was you.'

'So what, dog? Like I've said, there is a great mutual respect there. I have always held Madam Krum's intellect and kindheartedness in greatest esteem.'

'My arse. That kid loves you.'

'She's a married woman.'

'Not like that, you berk! She wanted you to comfort her because she loves you and you love her back and she knows that!'

'Shut up, Black.'

'She always goes to you for these things. She needed you and you were there for her. Always are.'

'Even if such a thing was true, Black-which clearly it is not-what would it matter?'

Sirius groaned with frustration, slamming down his glass with a sharp thunk. 'Because you're being a nancy about this and it's bollocks!'

Snape's eyes narrowed. 'Would you call me weak, Black?'

'No, I'd call you a bloke who's trying not to deal with things because they frighten him.'

'Shut up.'

'That kid loves you to pieces, you arsehole, and you love her back. You held your wand on me just now to make sure I didn't upset her.'

'It would set my plans back if she were to relapse.'

Sirius huffed, rolling his eyes. 'Yes, that's what it must be. Not because you care about her and want her to be happy, or worry about her or something.'

'Fuck you, Black.'

'Whatever my faults are, Snape—shut up—I don't lie to you. Why are you fighting this so hard?'

'I am fighting nothing.'

'Except admitting that it's all right to love someone.'

'The girl has got a father. Rodolphus is devoted to her.'

'Of course he is. But so are you.'

'Oh, and I suppose Tamm follows us both about for the same reason?'

'Actually, yes. He can love us both, see, and it still works. Love isn't money, Snape. There's a lot of it to go round.'

Snape's jaw tightened convulsively. 'You arse of a dog.'

'Arf arf, Snape.'

He transformed and went to do his rounds of the Ministry. As Sirius left, he saw Snape pick up his glass, staring into the middle distance with an odd look on his face. Sirius transformed and left to do his rounds, wondering how the smartest man he knew could also be the thickest.

In Romania, Arthur Weasley sat down, rubbing his eyes tiredly. An elf appeared and handed him a draught to ease the massive headache he was developing. He swallowed it, the relief washing over him in waves, and then he called the elf back.

'Find Ron, please.'

Ron's skinny, gangling form filled the door. 'Salut, Tata.'

'English, Ron, please.'

'All right, Dad. How are you?'

'Fine, son, fine. Sit down, would you?'

He did. He was all elbows and knees, wearing his Quidditch clothes, hair a shade too long. Arthur felt a great, uncomplicated rush of love for his son, a simple feeling of peace and affection.

'Ron, I was speaking to Dorina this evening.'

Ron nodded, ears colouring a little. He had a bit of a schoolboy crush on elegant, articulate Minister Vulpes, which was fine. What was not fine, to Arthur, was that his son preferred speaking Romanian to English, and sometimes groped for words and phrases. But how could he stop it? The children might never get to go home  
again, and he and Molly had agreed that forcing them to live as though still in England would be unfair. It was natural they'd taken to it, and more natural that English should be a secondary concern.

'We've contacted the Bulgarians.'

Ron's eyes widened. 'Aren't they against us, though?'

'We aren't sure. It would seem the Dark Lord tried to have them assassinated.'

Ron shook his head. 'Sorry?'

'Do them in. Kill them.'

'Is Hermione all right?'

'She is. They've asked us to come meet with them in Sofia in three weeks time.'

Ron took the glass of pear juice the elf handed him and asked it something. It came back with a plate of biscuits for each of them.

'Are you going?'

'Yes, I am. I was thinking, since you speak Romanian so well, you might like to go too.'

Ron's face lit up. 'Da! Yes, I mean.'

'You do understand that the girl you knew is gone forever? She's lived with them four years, Ron. She'll have changed.'

'We all have changed, Dad.'

Arthur looked at his son, all sharp limbs now, who spoke English with a faint Romanian accent and who went by Ionel with his friends.

'That's true. Then you'll do it.'

'I would like that. Mum says it's all right?'

'She does. Are you familiar with what happened there?'

'I read the papers when it happens, Dad.'

'Happened.'

'Yes, happened. What is she like, and Krum? Do you know?'

'She and Krum have a whole…well, a court. Draco Malfoy, did you know him?'

'He was a…someone stupid.'

'A git?'

'Yes, a git. Rude.'

'He's their second in command. And some others I've never heard of. Young people, all of them. And Lemuel Scabior.'

'He was the man who…' Ron mimed stabbing and then stuck his tongue out and gestured cutting it out. Arthur nodded, frowning.

'Where did you hear that, Ronald Bilius?'

Ron grinned. 'I took from your study the papers, Dad, when I was shorter.'

'Younger, and that sentence is a grammatical nightmare.'

'Sorry.' He looked sorry, too, and Arthur clamped his shoulder gently.

'It's all right, son. Practice a little more. And don't snitch my papers, either.'

'Well, not now.'

'Did it give you nightmares?'

Ron shook his head immediately. 'No. I did not understand well about-' he gestured again.

'Scabior is a habitual criminal and a lunatic. My friends Alastor Moody and Emmeline Vance were the ones who arrested him. You remember them, don't you?'

Ron's eyes darted away. 'A little. Mad-Eye, yes?'

'Mad-Eye, that's right. And Emmeline was the tall blonde lady.'

'She give me a boiled sweet one time.'

'Gave me. She was a very kind lady. Neville's godmother.'

'Madam Longbottom, she is going?'

'I don't know, Ron. It is very important you not tell your friends anything you might learn. It's state secrets.'

Ron raised a brow. 'Yes, Minister.'

'You're darned right. You know about Frank and Alice?'

'Hermione's parents used an Unformidable on them.'

'Unforgiveable. And Barty Crouch Jr, and her uncle Rabastan.'

'And Lucius Malfoy?'

'No, he didn't do that. He did other terrible things, but not that.'

'They are in England?'

'In disgrace because of what happened in December. Have your teachers ever told you about Incipience theory, Ron?'

'Magical father and mother have magical children, Dad, right?'

'Well, yes. But some kinds of magic are passed down through blood lines. The Trelawnys were seers, for instances. Some families used to be Parselmouths.'

'Yes, all right. I remember now.' He had a look on his face that made Arthur suspect he was translating his head. It made his chest hurt a little bit.

'The Lestranges, and the Blacks, and the Malfoys, have always been famous for producing Dark wizards and witches. If the things I've read are correct…it would seem Hermione has the…gift is not the word, but her name has been mentioned in conjunction with some disturbing incidents.'

'Like what?'

'Supposedly, she summoned a firestorm and burnt several dozen enemy aurors alive during the fighting in Sofia. That may not be true. It might be a wild exaggeration, or else there could some context-some other things-we don't know about, that caused that.'

'You don't think so.'

'No, Ron. I fought her mother and father any number of times, and her uncles. Bellatrix could probably do it, and Rodolphus is powerful in his right. It wouldn't surprise me if Hermione had the ability to do that.'

'Oh.'

'She might look the same. Almost the same, obviously you've all grown up, but don't…don't let it fool you, son. She is dangerous now.'

'All right, Dad.'

'Thank you, Ron.'

Ron surprised him by bending and hugging him swiftly. Arthur hugged him back, wishing he could fix this, wishing that Ron could have his sweet little friend back, and not what was surely a miniature Bellatrix waiting for him, clever and beautiful and poisonous.

'Go on, Ron.'

Ron left, and Arthur went back to his work, forcing the upcoming tragedy from his thoughts.

Across the border, Draco was working on another potential tragedy, but with much less-as in none whatsoever-sorrow in his heart. Instead, he was cleaning his nails, stopping every so often to grin ghoulishly at Morreau.

'Well, Minister, it seems to me we've got you, what's the phrase? Ah, yes, bang to rights. In other words, mate, you're fucked.'

Morreau went red. 'You dare, you British son of a-'

'I'd think about how I ended that, were I you. I could still send the elves for something for you to drink.'

Morreau, wisely, did not push the issue. 'This is an outrage.'

'So is your selling us to the Dark Lord.'

'He came to me!'

'And?'

'He threatened-they threatened…my God, do you know how it is?'

Draco set down his nail file and rolled up his sleeve. The Mark was very dark against his skin.

'He threatened you? Poor dear.'

'He sent werewolves!'

'He does that.' He took up the nail file again.

Morreau was red about the face, struggling, desperate. 'He said he'd kill us all!'

'He does that, too.' Draco sighed and signalled the elf. 'Some ayran and lokum, please, Pippy.'

Morreau touched nothing until Draco leant over and sipped from his glass.

'Your problem, Minister, is that those documents tend to contradict your story. A hundred thousand galleons. That would be what in Louis d'Or?' His pronunciation was perfect.

'A million three.'

'Not bad, for some letters to Mcnair. Was it him who came to you?'

'I don't have to tell you anything.'

'No?' Draco slapped his palms on the table, relishing the man's jump as the crack echoed through the room. 'I disagree.'

'You're a thug like your father.'

'Father? No, perish the thought. I, on the other hand? Quite correct. But you see, I am treating you as one gentleman to another. If you don't want to talk to me, you could talk to someone else.'

'Scabior doesn't scare me.'

'He ought to. But no. Full moon's tomorrow. Perhaps we'll tie you to a tall tree and see if a night in the mountains might loosen your tongue.'

'You'd be killing a head of state.'

'Killing? Not at all. We've a strong cage to put you in. And even if we did, what of it?'

'My government would never stand for it.'

'Your government would never know. We could easily Polyjuice someone to look like you for however long it took. And by the time people figured it out, Minister, our troops would be in your country. We could strip France like locusts in, oh, a week? Two, perhaps. A nice object lesson might nudge those on the fence, anyhow, don't you think?'

Morreau mouth opened and he stared ahead, trying to form words. 'You…'

'Me, Minister. My cousins are gentle and shy, but I'm not. I'd have done it already except they wanted to try reasoning with you. So here we are.'

'But…'

'And you've a niece, haven't you, that's marrying Wetherell Mcnair? Yseult?'

'…yes.'

'She's one of Hermione's school friends, as I recall. And a few others. She speaks very highly of Madam Maxime, as well. So we'd spare them, likely. The others, though…what good would all those useless mouths be to Bulgaria?'

'Yseult is your cousin's friend.'

'Of course she is. And you sold her like a fair day goose, but that's neither here nor there. Point is, don't think you can play us against the Dark Lord and win.'

'You're savages. Animals.'

'I thought we were thugs and shepherds. Now what shall I do with those banners I had made up? Tsk tsk, Minister, do be consistent in your insults.'

'You'd never get-'

Draco held up a hand. 'Don't. It's cliché. That offends me. At least be worth sparring with, won't you?'

'Snape sold your cousin.'

'The Vicereine and Lord Protector have loved one another since they were children. Wetherell Mcnair, on the other hand, is a monster. I doubt you care much, but that's another tick against you, isn't it? We have people who wouldn't….well, be Wetherell Mcnair. Nicolae Pavel, for instance. He's very educated, Pavel. Reads four languages. Muggleborn, but in times like these, what does it matter?'

'You'd give me niece to a mudblood?'

Draco casually set down his nail file and backhanded Morreau across the face. 'Pavel is worth fifty of you at least. When he's bought, he stays bought. You, on the other hand, you squirming, crawling maggot…' He backhanded him again on principle.

'What would you have me do, Malfoy?'

'It's not what you would do, Morreau. It's what you will do.'

'Oh?'

'Pippy, bring Godfather in.'

Snape was in top form today. He came in, robes swishing grandly, and grinned at Morreau with such malice that Draco's skin felt cold.

'Draco. How is our guest doing?'

'He doesn't quite get it, Godfather.'

'No?'

'My fault. I've not got much practice in politics.'

Snape was still grinning. 'Walk with me, Godson. We'll leave a friend to sit with Morreau. Norry?'

The elf appeared, and then right after him was Scabior. Scabior was smiling too. He had very good teeth for a man of his class, and he was showing all of them.

'P'rofessor? Young Mr. Malfoy, ow d'you do?'

'Well, Scabior, thank you.'

'Yes, well. I wonder, Scabior, if you'd keep Morreau company for us?' Draco grinned at Scabior.

'Be glads t.'

Scabior sat down at the table and pulled out a whetstone, and then the longest knife Draco had ever seen. It rasped easily over the stone. Scabior was humming tunelessly to himself, still smiling a bit.

'Oh, and Scabior? No bruises, please.'

As the door closed, Draco smelt piss, and was pleased to know that Morreau had been lying, after all.  
Godfather led him to an abandoned conference room. 'How was it, Draco?'

'He'll crack, Godfather.'

'Soon?'

'Two days, maybe three. After Scabior, perhaps send one of the wolves?

We might need to give a few Wolfsbane, if they'll take it.'

'Arco?'

'And Pavel. Maybe Sandru. Shame about that tall fellow. Tugurlan, was his name? He'd have struck quite an imposing figure.'

'He was an idiot.'

'Never said he had to be smart, Godfather.'

Snape nodded slowly. 'What is this, Malfoy, I hear about Estonia?'

Fuck. 'I swore a vow, Godfather.'

'To whom?'

'Paavo and Enver, amongst others. They supported us in return for a promise of vengeance.'

'Ah.'

Draco found himself squirming a little. He was, he reminded himself, fifteen, not ten or eleven, and over six feet tall. Except, he sensed, to Snape and his father. They would always be taller than he, and stronger, and braver, at least in his mind. And theirs. Neither of them feared him, which normally soothed his spirit, but right now he felt eleven again.

'When did you plan to tell your parents and me?'

'After we got back. There's nothing they or you could do to help, and it would worry you all.'

Snape was looking him right in the eye. 'You are quite right about the second part. But you are a man, or close enough to it, that I for one would not forbid you. I do hope, Draco, you don't mean to take Tamm?'

'I offered. He doesn't want to.'

'You offered?'

'It was part of the deal that he got his chance at revenge.'

'I see.'

Draco could take no more staring. 'Godfather, please! I'm Sensechal of Castle Krum!'

'I never said you weren't.'

'You're giving me a look.'

'Indeed. You are Sensechal, but you are also my godson, and I've every right to be unhappy about this.'

'Why?'

'Because it is dangerous.'

'So are they. They're holed up in the mountains as bandits.'

'You've the approval of the countries in question?'

'Not yet, but they'll say yes.'

'You're quite the politician these days, Draco.'

Draco shook his head. 'Uncle Penko is a politician. I'm Viktor's second, that's all.'

'You had Morreau panicking.'

'He's stupid.'

'Stupid people are the most dangerous.'

'I know. But we're dangerous too.'

Snape folded his hands. 'Who's idea was Blagoev, Draco?'

'Sir?'

'Don't even try. It wasn't Krum's.'

'I can't say.'

'Why, Draco?'

'We all agreed.'

Snape leant back a little, a danger sign. 'Was it your cousin?'

'It was all of us.'

'Draco.'

'I can't.'

'Did you swear a vow?'

'We didn't have to. He had to die and this was the best way.'

'Explain your logic.'

Draco spread his hands. 'The lords whose children got poisoned were the ones who rebelled, and the likeliest to poison us themselves. This way they saw justice done in a suitably terrible fashion and got the message about trying anything.'

Snape nodded approvingly. 'Well done, the lot of you.'

'You aren't angry?'

'Draco, it was not my design that my fifteen year old godchildren should be forced to this, but you did just as I've always told you. And in a very Slytherin fashion, I might say.'

'House points, Godfather?'

'Fifty points to Slytherin.'

They both smiled a little. 'So you depart when the conference has finished?'

'Ideally. We need to be here for the exiles.'

'Quite so. Black and I will be returning as well.'

'And my parents?'

'No. It would be best to integrate the two groups slowly.'

Draco had expected it. 'They're well, though?'

'They miss you very much, and the others.'

'And we them.'

'Has Tamm said anything about Slughorn?'

'Not to me. I'd ask Barty and Sirius.'

'You judge he's all right?'

Draco huffed softly, considering. 'I hope he is. If he wasn't, he wouldn't say it.'

'No bad dreams? No unusual mood swings? No unexplained crying?'

'Not that I've observed.'

'And yourself?'

'Me?'

'You.'

'Sometimes bad dreams. And crying, once or twice.'

'What are you taking?'

Draco shook his head. 'Nothing. If I can't hear when we get attacked, we could get hurt.'

'You need sleep.'

'So do Hermione and Viktor. Couldn't you nag them?'

'Why should I, when I've got you here with me?'

Draco chuckled. 'Really, I'm fine.'

'Liar.'

'I'm not.'

'Don't try to get round me, boy, you aren't nearly ready for that.'

'Am.'

'Indeed, no.'

Snape tugged a cuff. 'May I ask you something in confidence?'

'Anything, Godfather.'

'Two things. Firstly, would it be expedient for me to start dosing Miss Kask with contraceptive?'

'Godfather!'

'Well?'

'I, er…don't know. We haven't…you know.'

'One of the hardships of this situation, Draco, is that you are neither strictly a child, or even a teen, or an adult. So usually I would not approve, but in this case, it would strike me as rank hypocrisy to scold you for this when I've spent years training you to maim and kill. Do you agree?'

'I…we don't want to. I mean, we do, but I promised Father that we'd…'

'Of course, and I expect you to honour that. But I was your age once, and it was hard to remember moral precepts when opportunity beckons. Has Krum explained the nature of things?'

Draco nodded, red to the ears. 'Sirius. I don't want to ask Viktor. It would feel like prying.'

'I understand. But someone's explained things in real terms?'

'Yes.'

'Have you any questions?'

'Another time?'

'Whenever you'd like.'

'And the second thing?'

Snape nodded. He actually seemed like he was hesitating. 'Draco, are you ever tempted to use Dark magic?'

'Sometimes.'

'How much? On a scale of one to ten, for instance.'

'A three? Maybe a four?'

'All right. And what about your cousin?'

Draco drew in a breath. 'I feel it in her, sometimes. When she uses magic, it sort of pulses.'

'Has she reading things of that nature, do you expect?'

'She's not said.'

'What do you think?'

'Not yet.'

Snape nodded slowly. 'All right.' And they spoke no more about it.

**Spoiler A/N: On the one hand, Ron was English-only until he was eleven. On the other, he's almost totally immersed in Romanian. He really only uses English to his parents, when they insist on it. With everyone else, he usually uses Romanian, so his English is still fluent but starting to be harder for him to use without thinking about it.**


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Nothing clever to say to this one, guys, except that I got my information from a website aimed at schoolchildren. This has definitely rekindled my love for all things slithery, and now I know as much about these matters as an eight or nine year old. So if any third-grader out there was planning to challenge me to 'native snakes of Britain'-off, I've got my A-game ready :)**

Narcissa had just bit into a scone when the door in the foyer burst open and a team of aurors spilt in, wands raised. She dropped the scone, not without regret, onto the floor and slid onto her knees in front of her chair, hands on her head as her husband did the same.

'Ministry! This is a raid!'

'Obviously.'

Lucius managed to sound quite droll even from his current position. The lead auror shoved a warrant at him, and then her, and then they were being hauled roughly to their feet, as two females stripped off her outer robes and roughly jerked her shoes off her feet.

She caught Lucius's eye as they did it. His lips were a pale white line. She winked at him. A hint of a smile appeared, and then the aurors dragged her into another room, the door was between them, and closing.

When she emerged, an hour later, dishevelled but unbowed, he relaxed all over, the tension fading from his shoulders as he sat back. He, at least, had been allowed to redress. She had not, and had appropriated the blanket off the back of his small divan in the study to wrap herself in. What a sight she must have been, in a shift and stockings and a blanket on top!

'Lucius.'

'Narcissa. You look lovely.'

'Thank you, darling. I do hope the elves cleaned that scone up. The cream could stain the carpet.'

'Nippy got it, I recall.'

'Oh, good. Your mother loved that carpet.'

'It does match the drapes nicely.'

The aurors were openly goggling at them. 'Mr. Malfoy?'

'Yes?'

'We've a warrant to search your papers.'

'Open my desk, Minky.'

'And a vault below the floor?'

'Lemmy, take them downstairs directly after the desk.'

'The upstairs?'

'Feel free.'

The consternation was obvious. 'Should either of you like to make a statement?'

'Thank you, no. Narcissa, my dear?'

'I'm fine. May I have a wrapper, please?'

An elf brought down a dressing gown and after one of the female aurors checked it, Narcissa put it on. Her hair was hanging loose when they'd pulled out the combs to search it. She sent Lemmy for a ribbon and tied it back like a man's.

More aurors had come, and they fanned out, searching every inch of the house. She could hear them thumping about upstairs, and sometimes a smash as something broke or was broken.

'Narcissa?'

'Lucius?'

'I have been cheating on that regime you put me on. There is a bag of sweets in one of my desk drawers. I'm sorry, love.'

'Lucius Abraxas, the healer made you promise.'

'Chocolate cauldrons are delicious. Especially the mint-cream filled kind.'

'This is why you've been having heartburn, you know.'

'I demand a second opinion.'

'Mother Malfoy's portrait?'

'That is cruel, darling. Cruel.'

It took them three hours, and they carted off boxes of books and papers, and a handful of artefacts. The house seemed to ring with them after they left. Narcissa wondered whether they'd got to Trixie and Rodolphus yet, and whether Trixie had hurt any of them.

She waited until the elves had removed the Listening wires and Peeping charms and then stood up, sliding her feet into slippers, and pressed her husband's head to her chest. 'Lucius? It will be all right.'

'Do you suppose we ought to get every…one... now?'

Narcissa frowned thoughtfully and then, for the first time since she was perhaps eight or nine, sat down on the carpet. 'Excuse me. If you are all ready, you might come out. We could get you a snack, or something…?'

She heard them before she saw them. From every hole, a snake appeared, writhing toward her. They were all hissing. Adders and wood snakes and smooth snakes, even, squirming toward them. She forced herself not to scream or writhe as they came to her. One of them slithered fearlessly up her chest and into her dressing gown.  
With horrified clarity, she realized it was an adder, a viper. Very slowly and carefully, she reached out a hand.

Lucius flinched. 'Cissy, no.'

'I don't think they will hurt us.' Her finger caressed the back, tracing the markings. The snake's head came up. It yawned, showing fangs, and seemed to wait expectantly for her to do something.

'Hello there. Thank you for helping us.'

The snake slithered into a pocket and coiled, hissing softly. The elves appeared, visibly agitated, and Narcissa stood carefully, steadying the passenger in her dressing gown.

'Some meat for our…friends. Raw, I should think.'

The elves brought it and the snakes fell to. Lucius came and put an arm round her. 'Narcissa? You are quite the most wonderful lady I've ever met.'

'And you the most wonderful man.'

Her little snake friend chose that moment to poke his head up. He looked at both Malfoys quizzically. There was fresh meat there; why did they not partake?

Narcissa gently stroked his head. 'Please, eat. We've eaten.'

Lucius extended a hand, and then limned the line of the snake's skull with one finger. 'Our thanks for your assistance.'

The adder hissed and slithered down to join his friends and kinsmen for a well-deserved nosh.

The aurors had indeed got to Lestrange House. When the Malfoys had themselves Apparated there an hour later, Bellatrix was still seething, and Rodolphus was nursing a black eye.

'Rodolphus, my God. What happened?'

'Mcnair tried to touch Trixie.'

'What?'

Bellatrix stopped pacing and muttering. 'He just grabbed my arm. Rodolphus swung on him.'

'He tried to touch my wife.'

'And then I kicked the bastard in the nadgers. Twice.' She grinned mischievously at Narcissa, who covered a snort with her hand.

'Trixie!'

'Might've been a fluke, that first one.'

Lucius was fixing both Lestranges with a fierce scowl. 'This will make our lives harder.'

'Shan't.'

'Why not, Bellatrix?'

'They expect it of us. If we hadn't done, it'd look suspicious.'

Narcissa went to her sister and gave her a hug. 'I think you're right. Rodolphus, we ought to heal that eye.'

Rodolphus nodded. 'I've been too angry before now.'

Lucius did it, as he was rather a better ad hoc medic than she, and then the four sat down. 'Where are Rab and Gennie?'

'They're at Feathering. Aunt wanted someone there with them for this.'

'Did they search there as well?'

'Any moment.'

An elf appeared, bowing. 'Masters, aurors have come.'

'Go and defend the masters, elf, hurry!'

Narcissa sat beside her sister and they joined hands, waiting to see how this would go down.

Eugenia was wondering the same. She was standing protectively between Aunt Cunegarde and Hetty, Nagini on their other side, hissing dangerously, pupils dilated. The snake's tail was lashing back and forth slowly, her neck rigid.

'We've an order to search you ladies. Willis, Monley, take Madam Cunegarde Lestrange to a bedroom and search her.'

'No.'

'Madam Lestrange, this is not opt-'

Eugenia had had enough. 'Pursuant to Code 206 of the Rights of the Accused, article four, paragraph nine, madam has the right to demand a healer do the examination due to ill health, debility or infirmity of age. Aunt Cunegarde, which would you rather?'

'A healer, niece Eugenia, thank you.'

The auror looked ready to spit ink. 'Thank you, madam, for reminding me so forcefully. And yourself? I suppose you've some debility?'

'Not at all. My sister in law is with child, however, so I suggest a mid-witch come.'

'Oh, you suggest? You don't quite seem to get this, Madam Lestrange. We are under warrant to search this house and the residents as traitors.'

'And the residents are still Wizarding Britons, with the rights that entails.'

'The Dark Lord will hear about this.'

'I agree.'

The auror took a step forward and Nagini struck at her, head flashing, making a terrible deep hiss that filled the room. The woman stepped back, shaking, the smell of fear heavy. Nagini had missed her face by perhaps five centimetres.

'Call off the snake.'

'Nagini is the Dark Lord's own familiar. If you object to her presence, be sure to tell the Dark Lord that.'

'Call her off or I'll hex her.'

'I think not, young woman.'

'Madam Lestrange, it is not your place to-'

'Place? You dare tell me about place? I am the daughter of Aeneas Lestrange, and my nephews went to Azkaban for the Cause. I was supping with the Dark Lord when you were barely a twinkle in some filthy Halfblood's eye. Who do you think you speak to, woman? A person like yourself?'

The auror's formerly ashen face was pink with outrage. 'Find them the damned healers and get the Carrows here now!'

Alecto was grinning when she arrived, two frightened looking healers in tow. The ladies-and the barely controlled Nagini-were shooed into a spare bedroom as the aurors sealed everything off.

'Madam Cunegarde Lestrange first, if you would.'

Eugenia refused to let the aurors help to undress Aunt. She did it herself, and the elves, who were crying the whole time. Naked the old woman was fragile, skinny as a chicken leg, all angles and wrinkled skin.

'Be careful, please. Aunt's skin is very fragile.'

'The ravages of age, niece. They await all of you, in your turn. Remember that, women.'

Aunt glared balefully from the bed as they checked every piece of clothing, felt round her hair- her wig had been taken, and what was underneath was cropped fuzz, looked between her toes and under her arms for concealed objects.

'Clean.'

Hetty next. It was worse, somehow, because Hetty's eyes were dull and resigned, as though she'd expected that someday demands to remove her clothing would come again, like her life with Des and with them was just a hiatus from the natural order of things. Eugenia swallowed bile and rage and swore to avenge her sweet, uncomplicated sister in law for this outrage.

Even the little swell of her belly wasn't spared. The mid-witch swished a spell and runes lit the walls. 'Normal, healthy, heartbeat very good.'

'She's clean?'

'Yes.'

Alecto watched it all with avid glee, oozing sadism and excitement. 'I think I'll help Eugenia personally.'

She was brutal. Robes torn, hair yanked as the woman pulled the pins from her hair, scrubbing roughly at her face with a coarse handkerchief to remove her makeup, rending the neck of her shift with the force of her 'help.'  
Eugenia stood defiantly nude before them, looking them all in the eye in turn. The healers turned away, blushing, clearly unwilling participants in this farce. Alecto was uncowed, and nodded for the auror to search her.

When it was over, Alecto was still smiling. 'Think you're so good now, do you?'

'I'm not a child abuser, Alecto. That, at least, makes me better than you. No wonder Avery won't marry you-he knows how you'd treat his children.'

Alecto went purple with startling speed. 'You cunt!'

'I'm not the one who split a child's lip where a reprimand would have sufficed. Or tried to break a brain-damaged war veteran like an animal. How despicable a person must you be?'

Alecto reached for her wand. Eugenia didn't think about herself, except for a thought about Edric growing up without a mother. Instead, she moved to shield Cunegarde and the trembling Hetty, and muscle memory did the rest.

'Petrificus Totalus!'

Alecto started to fall but Eugenia caught her and eased her down so as not to make a noise. She heard another voice but her world was the woman staring at her with such hatred from the floor. She left her lying, got her shift and then redressed Hetty, who immediately went to Nagini and curled up in her coils like a scared child. Elves had covered Aunt Cunegarde, who was watching with bright, unfearful eyes.

Eugenia's eyes fell on the two healers, likewise on the floor, but stunned and sleeping peacefully. 'Aunt? Did you do that?'

'Of course I did. I was Slytherin House duelling champion my last five years. You young people, thinking you know everything.'

That taken care of, she went to the frozen Alecto and bent over her. For the first time in her adult life, she was tempted to use Dark magic. Just one Cruciatus, just one to avenge the insult, to make sure Alecto wouldn't hurt them anymore. Just one.

Rab could give me pointers, she thought dizzily, and almost laughed. Rab and Barty, the three of us could have some sort of training, couldn't we? And cake after, and some of those terrible violet sweets Barty loves.

Alice saved her. The thought of Alice as she had been, gentle, funny Alice who always worked cases where children had been hurt because she was so good with them. Who'd loved her husband and her son and Emmeline Vance like a sister, and who would want her to treat Barty like she would any child in her charge, and not to hurt Alecto like that even if she merited it.

She bent over the woman and dropped her voice. 'I'd worry you might attack me once I let you go, but you prefer smaller prey, as I recall it. Don't you?'

Eugenia dug her wand into the fleshy shelf of the woman's chin. Alecto's eyes rolled, with fear or rage she couldn't say.

'This will never happen again. You will never hurt another child or terrorise another helpless person, because if you do and I find out, I will come to you in the dark of some night and do things to you that you can't even dream of. Think about that a while, won't you?'

She sent her elf for Bellatrix, who came and saw at once, taking it in. 'Gennie?'

'Would you Legilimise her, Trixie?'

Bellatrix bent over Alecto, grinning. 'Hello, Alecto.'

When that was taken care of, and the healers, Bellatrix went home, and Eugenia went to trying to fix the rest of the damage. Aunt Cunegarde was well as a woman of thirty, in relative terms, and made no protest when the elves helped her into her nightdress.

'That was quite impressive, Eugenia. A question?'

'Of course.'

'Silence us, if you wouldn't mind.'

Eugenia did it. Aunt Cunegarde looked at her with yellowed, ancient eyes that seemed to have seen everything, experienced it all and come out the other side of eternity endlessly weary.

'Who are you really, child?'

'Sorry?'

'You aren't a Feathering, I know that for a fact. That line in Aruba died out before you were born. You aren't a Prince, or a Hobbeson, or a Wiltly. Who are you?'

'Eugenia. I'm Eugenia.'

Aunt Cunegarde cocked her head. 'Are you? Are you sure?'

She made the choice. 'Yes, Aunt. I'm sure.'

Aunt Cunegarde nodded. 'So long as you are, I am satisfied. It almost does not matter, now, does it?'

'Matter?'

'I married my daughter to that Mcnair boy because of his name and look how that turned out. If you are who you say you are-which you are not-now, then I shan't ever speak a word against it. You've my oath on that.'

Eugenia's eyes filled. 'Aunt, I-why?' Asking was suicidal, but it didn't seem to mean much at the moment. Everything inside her was boiling like a noxious soup of anxiety and rage and guilt.

'Edric brings me joy. Erasmus is much improved by having someone to care for him. And the girl likes you.'

'How long have you know?'

'The second I laid eyes on you, just like I know Desmond's wife was a whore. Wasn't she?'

'A prostitute, yes.'

'I don't like painted women. But I know what it is to want a second chance, child. You and she both.'

Eugenia was trying not to cry. '…oh…'

'Hush, don't start weeping. I expect you'd like the elf to seal us in this?'

'Would you?'

'You young people today, you've no trust. Linky, bind Mistress Eugenia and myself.'

Hetty had rallied in the interim, to Eugenia's pride. She took a gentle calming potion and dressed again. 'It  
wasn't so bad.'

'Hetty? It wasn't your fault.'

Hetty looked down, eyes suddenly damp. 'Will Des be angry with me?'

'About what? Alecto victimised you. You didn't do anything wrong, sweetheart, I promise.'

'It's like Hermione all over again.'

'A little bit, it is. Do you need to lie down?'

Hetty shook her head no. 'We have guests, and Uncle will be upset by the commotion.'

Erasmus was quite surprisingly chipper. 'The worst tailors I have ever met!'

'They didn't hurt you, Uncle?'

'Hurt me? I should say not! But neither did they measure me for a suit for the moon-viewing party at the Ramsdells.'

'They were aurors, Uncle.'

'Were they? Did they find my top hat?'

'I don't think so.'

Erasmus frowned. 'I pay my taxes, you know. When Madam Winklesford comes next, Henrietta, do have her take a complaint.'

'All right, Uncle.'

The rest of them met in the parlour, except for Martin. They hadn't quite dared search his rooms, or Elisaveta's, and he'd never left them during the whole strange affaire. No one remarked on it, but his strange and solemn presence hung over the gathering like the ghost of himself.

Rabastan was quietly seething. Aurors had tried to search Uncle, and in defending the old man, he'd had his face bruised by an auror.

The mark was fixed but his shirt was ripped, and Eugenia steeled herself for the battle over throwing the damned thing away. It was almost worn out like it was.

Angriest of all was Nagini, who was stuck to Hetty's side and still ready to strike. Hetty, to everyone's amusement, had taken to buffing her scales lightly with a chamois cloth, and she was doing it now to calm the snake, the tip of whose tail was still twitching.

The other Lestranges came with the Malfoys the second the all clear came from the elves, and the groups embraced one another, relieved and upset. Eugenia thought of all of them, the former Black sisters looked most well. Bellatrix was thrumming with energy and Narcissa, as ever, was a well of serenity, but Eugenia could sense that something dangerous was hiding at the bottom of the well, waiting for the moment  
to attack.

The snakes had come as well, dozens of them transported in pillowcases shrunk small. They writhed across the floor in a living carpet, making a beeline for Hetty, who squealed like they were puppies and sat right down on the floor with them, stroking them, hissing excitedly. She looked like a happy child, all pink cheeks and bright eyes.

'What are they telling you, Hetty?'

Hetty held up a finger. 'We should write all this down.'

And so that's what they did.

That night, Eugenia climbed into bed. Rabastan was reading an Herbology journal, sometimes making annotations in pencil, frowning off and on. 'Catwort for baldness, my eye.'

Eugenia smiled a little. 'Are you going to write a response?'

'Damned right I am.'

He put the journal aside and snuffed his candle as she snuffed hers.

They each had a bed, one next to another, and his was shrunk every day and hidden in Draco's old nursery like a doll's bed. He'd offered once or twice to move into another room, but the surveillance made that impossible. Any deviation from the usual, however slight, would be noticed and reported, so they stayed in the same bedroom for the moment and simply tolerated the essential weirdness of the situation.

He stood up and sat on the edge of hers after asking her permission with a gesture. He took her hand after a moment, holding it in both of his.

'You know, Eugenia…I was not fighting for Uncle. I helped them search him. I knew he was all right.'

'Oh?'

'No. It was letters.'

'From Penko?'

'Yes.'

'Love letters.'

'Rather.'

She rolled over. 'Thank you for letting me know.'

'You aren't upset?'

'At you? No. For you? Yes, of course. That's vile.'

'I wanted to spare you humiliation.'

'I won't be, nor you. It's private, and they ought to be ashamed to go digging about in someone's personal life  
that way.'

He said nothing for a time. Then, very softly 'Eugenia?'

'Hmm?'

'You really felled Alecto and threatened to kill her?'

'Maim her.'

'Oh, that's much better. But you did?'

'Yes.'

He didn't let go of her hand. 'Where did the daughter of island aristocracy learn that, love?'

She went still, heart hammering. 'Rab?'

'How did you know Alecto split Hermione's lip at Hogwarts that day?'

'Where did you hear that?'

'Hetty mentioned you'd tasked Alecto with it.'

'She confides in me. Hermione.'

'Ah. It's all right, love.' He seemed to relax for a moment.

'You know, this war has changed a good many things. One of them, for me, was realizing how little some things actually matter. And how much others things do.'

'Like what?'

Rabastan sounded endlessly tired. 'I used to want a glorious New Britain, and blood purity, and power.'

'And now?'

'I want our son and peace and our family to be like it was, or at least not like it is.'

'I want that too.'

He touched her cheek again. 'Then that is enough for me.'

What did he know? How did he know it? She couldn't ask. Overwhelmed, she gulped, praying she wouldn't start  
to cry, feeling relieved and ashamed, because she'd made her choice, hadn't she, about who she was now?  
Rabastan Lestrange, who'd tortured her best friend to madness, gently brought her to him, and rubbed her back as she wept, whispering comforting nonsense as she cried and cried.

He refused to let go of her, and so, worn out, she slept, never noticing when he crept to own bed and got in, falling asleep after a long, long time.


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB, and reviewers.**

**After she read this chapter, signofthetimes remarked that '...that practice room sees a lot of action.' Pretty much, yeah.**

**Also, mea culpa: I'm ashamed, as a person from a farming community, that I mixed up a ram (a male sheep) and a billy (a male goat). I've undertaken to chant the almanac fifty times as penance, so all is well :)**

Scabior finished his shift at nine AM and cheerfully turned things over to Arco. He had, in a manner of speaking, a date, which is to say that he and Alise were going to have an early morning practice session in the room downstairs. He whistled as he walked, nodding to various wolves as he went. She was waiting for him, grinning saucily.

'Gud night, love?'

'I sat with Madam Morreau until midnight. She likes to embroider as well.'

'Sounds nice. She say sumthin bout what's goin on?'

'No. I tried, but she wouldn't give me anything.'

'You dun what you cud.'

'What about you?'

'Naw. E jus glared and made noises at me.'

'Noises?'

Alise raised her eyebrows, and Scabior, who was a truly awful actor, nevertheless assumed his best impression of Morreau.

'Hrrummph!'

'The entire time?'

'More r less. Thoughts e was avin a fit a sum kind at first.'

'What did you do, Lem?'

'Did it back.'

'You didn't!'

'Did so. Oughts t learn the bastard.'

She giggled and put her arms round him. He hugged him against her, feeling her soft, warm body and liking it. Alise was still laughing silently, shaking her head.

'If you've made an international incident, we'll have to go to Paris to testify.'

'You, mebbe. Not fer me. All that fancy food n all.'

'You'd like it.'

'I likes toffee, but I doan wants to live in a sweetshop.'

Her hand drifted to his side, the place his knife was holstered to his body.

'Why did you bring your knife, Lem?'

'Scare im, is all.'

'Oh. May I see it?'

He withdrew it carefully, reverently, and held it out to her handle first. She took it, little hands wrapping about the worn leather grip, looking at the blade.

'Did you? Scare him?'

'I shud thinks.'

'Show me.'

'Shows you?'

'How you scared him.'

Scabior's eyes widened, and he pushed her carefully down on the mat, poising the knife above her skin. Her eyes widened, and she arched, breathing hard.

'Then what?'

His other hand reached below her skirts and lifted them, severing the tie on her drawers. She sighed in response, gasping when he scraped the dull edge over her belly, over her thighs, up to her chin.

'And then?'

He put the knife down, and it was quiet except for their breathing, and after, he showed her the knife. She was good at it. Scabior was well-pleased.

He wasn't the only one. Sirius woke early and saw that Snape had gone. He did his quick check of everything, touched base with his cousins, and decided to go to Castle Borev to see how they were getting on there.

On arrival, he followed his nose outside, where the goats were grazing and Goose was wandering gormlessly about the courtyard, sometimes chuffing at no one and nothing. Sirius-Salazar greeted him, and the two wrestled a bit before they heard shoes scuffing on the stone floors, and looked up as Sose came out with buckets of water for the goats.

Sirius looked about and transformed, leaving Goose to whine a little. He approached slowly, not looking at her.

'Madam? May I take those for you?'

She stopped and swung the buckets down warily, one at a time. Sirius was wondering whether he should have stayed in dog form. Was he scaring her? But they were large buckets and she was small and her bones fragile. He moved very gradually toward her and carefully took the buckets, surprised at the weight.

'Where do these go?'

She gestured to the trough. The goats had gathered about them and were bahhing noisily, butting him with their heads, some of which had horns. A large and ill-tempered looking billy goat with a broken horn was particularly insistent, bleating lustily at Sirius and giving him hard thumps with his even harder head.

Sirius managed to get the first bucket in all right, but the billy, sensing a chance for mischief, waited until he was pouring the second, took a few steps, and ran directly into his arse, sending him flying, the content of the bucket flying up to douse him thoroughly.

Sirius sat, stunned, for perhaps three seconds, and then stood up. His arse hurt. His lower back was throbbing, and he was soaked in cold water. Adding insult to injury, several kids had gathered about him and were licking the water off with soft little tongues, led by Barty's Apples.

Sose looked ready to burst into tears, clearly scared that Sirius was angry with her. He knew better than to approach her, and so, when he started to laugh, he turned his head away and let loose, holding his belly and scratching Apples on the head with his free hand. The little goat nuzzled him, bleating softly, and then wandered off.

'Mr. Black?'

'Madam Tamm?'

'You aren't hurt?'

'Not a bit. Do you always water them yourself?' Where the hell were the elves?

'No. Sometimes. I wanted to check on them. That nanny is going to kid soon.' She gestured to a female whose sides were bulging.

'The elves've never cared for goats before.'

'Are they always this greedy?'

Sose nodded at the billy, who was slurping down water. 'He's bad. Anu thinks we should sell him.'

She was edging a little closer, very slowly. Goose came up beside her and watched Sirius, clearly torn between sensing Sose's discomfort and Sirius's lack of threat. Sirius watched the woman from the corner of his eye, making no sudden moves.

'Thank you. For helping Anu. He likes you.'

'I like him, too.'

'This Slughorn…'

She trailed off, looking away. Sirius wished he could reach out to her and assure her he meant her no harm, but that would make things worse and not better, so he stood still.

'He taught you when you were young?'

'Yes, he was our potioner.'

'Like Professor Snape?'

'Yes.'

She nodded jerkily. 'He didn't…I mean…?'

He could smell her discomfort, a little, and Goose quite a bit, because he whined worriedly, tail thumping, looking at them for reassurance that nothing was wrong.

'Not to me. My brother.'

'Brother?'

'Regulus.'

'I'm sorry.'

'I am too.'

She nodded again, eyes on the ground, and then stepped just a little closer. 'It must be hard for you. Going with him. My son. To see Slughorn.'

'It comforts me to know I can protect him. I couldn't save Reg. I wonder, sometimes, whether things would have been different if…'

Sose was watching him more fully, her head angled toward him. Goose had calmed a little, but he still moved restively, pointing himself toward the door into the castle.

'I know how that is. I, ah, a trader is coming today. For the goat. That one.'

She gestured to the belligerent billy, who was gulping water down like it was about to be outlawed.

'It might be good to be rid of him.'

'Yes. Would you, ah, mind coming? If you haven't got anything better to do.'

'I'd be glad to.'

She sighed with relief, and the two of them were silent together, and watched the goats for some time.

In another part of the castle, Draco registered that he was being shaken a second before Anu's voice cut through his sleep-fogged brain. 'Drago, you have to wake up. Hermione's got an idea and she needs all our help.'

Draco sat, careful not to accidentally hit Anu, and rubbed his eyes. 'What time is it?'

'Almost lunchtime. We just got word.'

'Everything's quiet otherwise?'

'So far. Sirius is here.'

Draco blinked as light flooded the bed. His valet tugged the curtains back fully and he stood, donning his trousers and tunic. He'd slept in just his singlet and smalls, feeling the heat keenly. After the cold of Britain, it was quite a revelation. Still, he felt a little bad for having slept so long when he could have been helping Aunt Sose or Anu.

Anu had gone to the sideboard and returned with a brimming goblet of pear juice (Anu's pouring tended to the grandiose due to his missing eye, but it was better than it had been, and Draco's personal resolution to clout the first person to mock the kid over it had paid off, in that he'd had to punch one person at school and it had never been mentioned again.) and a small plate of sweet cakes to munch on.

'Your sleep was good?'

'It was. Where is Sirius?'

'With Nene. She didn't want to be alone with the goat trader.'

'Barty?'

'With Aunt Lyudmilla's father. He's quite a nice fellow. Her father, I mean.'

'Seems to be.'

He took the juice and drained half the goblet. 'What's Morreau told them, messenger? Anything?'

Anu stood up, grinning. 'The Lord Protector sends his compliments, Senseschal, and asks you to come immediately. He says Milady is going to make that son of a bitch cry like a child. It's a quote.'

'I believe it.'

The two of them, in official tunics, set off. Wolves greeted them from all sides, looking edgy and stressed from the coming full moon and the added pressure of the Ministers and their retinues.

Sandru hurried over. 'Ten silver, Mr. Tamm, for that goat.'

'Good. Is Nene all right?'

'Salazar is with her.' Sandru had been told about Sirius, but it was wiser to keep things close to the vest. Both lads nodded-if Sirius was there, clearly Aunt Sose was safe.

'When he's got a second, we could use his help with Morreau.'

Sandru grinned. 'Good. Give him one for us, Mr. Tamm.'

'One what?'

'Anything. None of us liked him either.'

'We will, Sandru. Is the pen fixed?'

'It is. Lord Borev helped me.'

'Ivan?' It was so strange to hear Ivan referred to like that, but it was technically correct.

'Yes, sir.'

Draco nodded approvingly. 'Thank you for helping him.'

Sandru bowed and was off, and the two young people made for the Floo, for the Ministry and for politics.

Hermione's idea, as it turned out, was simplicity itself. She was bent over a large metal basin Draco identified as a Pensieve, mumbling to herself as Snape glowered at her shoulder.

'The last rune, Professor?'

'Algiz, my lady.'

'And…there! What do you think?'

Snape bent over the thing and swished his wand, drawing forth a filament of memory from his head. 'Should you like to try it first?'

She bent over it and then laughed. 'Professor!'

'My lady Krum?'

'That's dreadful!'

'He deserves it.'

She straightened, giggling, and Draco sucked in breath. She looked terrible, too pale, hectic patches of high colour staining each cheek.

'Draco, Anu, come see what we've done!'

They both came closer. The Pensieve itself was quite a nice piece of work, judged Draco, running a finger over the closest rune. 'Did you do this, Hermione?'

She shook her head. 'The Pensieve was lying disused in the office. It gave me the idea.'

'What is the idea?'

Hermione started to answer but instead waved Kreacher in. The elf was carrying a large pier glass, and a small stream of elves were likewise holding mirrors and reflective surfaces.

'We put Morreau in the middle of a curtained area, here-do you see?' She gestured to an area that had been marked in chalk on the floor. Heavy velvet curtains were suspended from the ceiling, forming a sort of booth.

'Yes, of course.'

'The elves are hanging the mirrors. We use the Pensieve to project the images on the mirrors.'

Draco nodded slowly. 'And then wait for him to break.'

'Yes, exactly.'

'Whose memories are we using?'

Hermione looked aside. 'Well, I was hoping everyone could donate some. If they didn't mind.'

'I'm game. Anu?'

'All right.'

'Where is he now? Morreau.'

'Healer Yokov has to check him over.'

'Check him over?'

Snape spoke up. 'We'll need to give him regular stimulants to assure that he doesn't fall asleep.'

'Or pass out.'

'Quite. Healer Yokov is going to check his heart and such, and give him some nutrient potions to be sure he won't sicken from lack of food.'

'We've been feeding him.'

'Yes, but lightly. Fruit, yoghurt, bread.'

'Ah.'

Draco got a bit closer to his cousin. 'Are you quite well, Hermione?' He touched her forehead, testing for a fever. She felt cool but clammy to his hand, and her lips were too light a shade.

'I've not been sleeping well, is all. After this I'll go and lie down.'

'Swear to it?'

'Draco, really.'

'Mother would have kneazles if she saw you like this and you know it. I mean it, Hermione, promise you'll sleep.'

'It isn't so bad.'

'Professor, tell Hermione I'm right.'

'Malfoy is wholly correct, my lady. You need sleep and a proper meal.'

'Both of you are being silly.'

'In fact, let us set this up. We can send for you when your memories are needed.'

'I couldn't possibly.'

'Right now, or I'm writing Mother tonight.'

'Draco, don't bother Aunt Cissy with this!'

'One… help me, Godfather…two…it'd be embarrassing for me to have to carry you…two and a quarter…Anu, please tell Kreacher to have Hermione's bed ready…two and a half, Hermione Bellatrix, this second…'

She set her jaw. 'Draco, please stop. I can't lie down right now.'

'Why not?'

'I just can't.'

He embraced her. 'I'll tell Aunt Trixie and she'll blister your ears if you don't.'

'Promise you'll call me?'

'On my life. Kreacher, take the Vicereine, please.'

Once she was gone, and Anu dispatched to find Viktor and alert him, Draco faced his godfather.

'Is she ill?'

'Just tired and pushing herself too hard. Keep scolding her.'

'I shall. And you? Are you well?'

'Quite. You're going to be recalled, you know, to Britain.'

Draco's innards felt like lead. 'Do I need to go?'

'No, of course not. Pavel is going in your stead, and you are going wolf hunting.'

'Quite right we are. It shouldn't take terribly long.'

'Famous last words, Malfoy.'

'Touché.'

The two sat in easy silence for a while. 'Godfather?'

'Malfoy?'

'The exiles are coming.'

'Yes, they are.'

'Are you nervous?'

Snape sat down facing Draco. 'For myself? No. Those people will think of me as they always do. But your cousin is struggling mightily.'

'How so?'

'She believes they killed her muggle parents.'

'Did they?'

'Someone did, Draco.'

Draco found he didn't want to parse that much. 'How can I help?'

'Be there for her, and for Krum. They will need your help and insight more than ever.'

Draco touched his forehead, hoping that things would get easier someday soon.

'Are you donating memories, Godfather?'

'A few. You?'

'Oh, yes.' Draco was looking forward to seeing Morreau break down. He cracked his knuckles, anticipating being able to move forward with their plans, and of course a touch of revenge.

'Viktor?'

'Hello, Anu. Drago, Professor. How is it going?' Viktor came in and sat down, looking windblown, like he'd been flying.

Snape explained the set-up and Viktor smiled. 'Impressive.' He cracked his neck and looked round. 'Hermione is so good at these things.'

The pride in his voice was clear, and Draco agreed at once, his concern for his cousin pressing against his pleasure in her cleverness in these matters.

Snape took the memories himself, after they'd chatted an hour or so. Draco suspected the break was so Hermione could sleep. She came when summoned, looking slightly less terrible but still far from sound.

After they'd been harvested, they called for the others. Sirius came, and, to everyone's surprise, Aunt Sose. Snape was careful not to touch her as he took the memories.

A few wolves volunteered when asked, and even some of the elves. By the time they were done, there were nearly nine hours of memories waiting in the Pensieve.

'Shall we test it out? I've inserted a comedic memory for that purpose.'

The group agreed, and Snape swished his wand. The room darkened, and then lit up. As they watched, a series of images of Sirius-Salazar flashed across the mirrors, reflected on every surface in the booth. He was chasing gnomes, and in every image the gnomes fought back, sometimes biting or pinching, sometimes throwing small rocks and once besetting him with sticks.

'Oh, but you never show my successes, Snape.'

'You've had none. My garden is still riddled with gnomes.'

'It's a process.'

'You're incompetent.'

At Hermione's nod the elves brought Morreau in. He was still bound to the chair.

'What is this?'

Snape held up a long syringe. 'Hold him still, elves.'

The stimulants started working at once. Snape moved to shoo them all out. Draco hung back slightly.

'Not bad for bronze-aged thugs, Minister, don't you think?'

As the door closed, Morreau started shouting to be let out. Draco wondered whether there was anything to eat in the kitchens.


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**True story, y'all: My bedroom has no closet (it's a really old house) so I store my clothes on a hanging bar. Every so often, I come in and find pieces on the floor. I assumed that Pooh was taking pieces that had fallen off and dragging them into his bed to lie on. (We share a love of natural fibres, apparently).**

**Woke up this morning to a strange noise. Sat up, no glasses, and realised why my clothes were falling. Newt has tipped to the idea that the bar moves, and that many of my longer clothes sway when it does. As I watched, she'd crouch under something long and spring straight up, digging her claws in and riding like a kid on a tireswing.**

**Madea, whose clothes now have a fringe whether they were meant to or not :/**

Viktor had just dropped off to sleep when he heard Uncle Rumen's voice. 'Little bear, wake up. Wake up, Viktor, it's important. Wake up, love.'

Uncle Rumen hadn't called him that in how long? He opened his eyes and groaned softly, stiff from sleeping upright in the armchair. They'd been taking turns questioning Morreau to see if he'd break, and he'd wanted a nap before his turn came.

'Uncle? Is it Grandmama?'

'She's not got long now, Viktor. She's asking to see you.'

Viktor sat, feeling his cheek rasp under his fingers. How long had it been since he'd shaved or had a real sleep? Since Morreau got found out, and that was…days, at any rate.

'We've heard from England?'

'Someone named Umbridge contacted us. Snape's in the office to explain.'

'Hermione?'

'There already.'

'Morreau?'

'Still hasn't broken. Pavel and Arco are in there right now. They're leaning on him fairly hard.'

'The Wolfsbane?'

'They've dosed themselves. Istok and Galca too, so they can take over when those two tire.'

'Please see they get a good bonus for this, Uncle. It's quite uncomfortable not to change, I understand.'

'I've already authorized time and a half for this. I don't know how he's holding out.'

'Morreau? Fear. It's better to be the right hand of the Evil One than in his path.'

Uncle Rumen looked grim and sad. The office was well lit up, and the family was there, even the children, both of whom were crying.

'Hermione?'

'I'm sorry, sweet.'

Snape held up a letter on the Dark Lord's own parchment. 'It came twenty minutes ago from London. Stomach cancer, terminal.'

Viktor sat down. 'What can we do?'

'She wishes to see you before she dies.'

'I can't get in, can I?'

'We've sent an official petition to the Dark Lord on compassionate grounds.'

'Should I hold my breath?'

'No, my lord, not for an instant. It would be possible for us to get you in and out again, very likely.'

'How?'

Sirius spoke from the corner. 'Kid, if I can do it, you can do it. And Des'll help us.'

'Desmond's been petitioning to see his wife. That one might well get through. If it does, the commotion of his arrival might well be cover enough to permit you to remain unnoticed. Your grandmother has also asked for a priest.'

'We'll bring hers, if he'll go.'

'Yes, indeed.'

Viktor sat down, and both cousins came to him at once, settling in his lap. He put an arm round each and let them cry into his tunic, murmuring softly, comforted by having people to focus on.

'All right, shhh. Grandmama wouldn't want you to make yourselves sick, would she?'

Both shook their heads. 'We'll sit here and snuggle a bit, does that sound good? Professor? What would we need do?'

'Right now, nothing. I've asked a friend in London to push one of the petitions through, if both isn't going to be tenable. He'll get back to us as quickly as possible.'

The children, woken in the middle of the night to get bad news and then worn out by their storm of grief, were both yawning. Uncle Penko and Sirius came and collected them, to put them down on divans in a nearby lounge until plans had been made 'There are other considerations as well.'

'Like what, Professor?'

'Seal the doors, please. Kreacher, watch the children.'

Snape explained about the Horcruxes and the museum idea. Viktor inhaled deeply at the whole notion of multiple Horcruxes.

'How many so far?'

'The diary, to a certainty. The locket, which is in Kreacher's possession. Possibly, a cup of some sort, mentioned in a letter to Archibald Mulciber. More, potentially.'

'What about the ring?'

'Ring, dog?'

Anu was nodding vigorously. 'Yes. Slughorn was talking about the boy with the ring, remember?'

'I do.'

'What are the odds it isn't him, Snape?'

'Low, admittedly. There have been no rings surrendered thus far, that I've heard of.'

'Doesn't mean it isn't one.'

'Obviously, Black. Perhaps you could speak to Slughorn, Tamm?'

Anu nodded stolidly. 'All right.'

Viktor wanted to protest it. He's thirteen, he wanted to say, don't send him back there. But he couldn't. It could be there only chance and Anu looked as resolute as any martyr about to be fed to lions. It was an impossible situation, and apt to get worse before it got better.

Snape must have seen the look on his face, because he lowered his voice. 'I will have a word with the boy, never fret.'

'Thank you.'

'It might be necessary for your lordship to bring some of these artefacts out of Britain for us.'

'I will do whatever it takes, to be sure.'

'We will need to rely on your cunning to hide things.'

'Are there photographs for the goblins to copy the known items?'

'I took the liberty, Viktor.' Uncle Penko spoke up from the corner, where he'd been watching out the window. 'I thought it'd be easier to ask forgiveness than permission.'

'No need, Uncle. You're Lord Paramount of the Conclave.'

'That's what my correspondence says, anyway.'

Draco spoke up. 'What about the conference?'

'We can finish it, Draco, between us. Viktor, do you mind?'

Viktor took her hand, which was trembling again. 'We speak with the same voice, wife.'

'I know. They know it as well, I daresay.'

'Morreau?'

Snape turned his head slowly to look at his godson. 'Malfoy, I've all the faith in the world in you.'

'We should decide a game plan right now, though. Who knows how long you might be gone?'

Viktor hoped the answer was 'not long at all'. He had absolutely every confidence in Hermione, but it made him nervous to be gone from the country during a time like this. On the other hand, it was the least he could do for Grandmama, to ease her final moments.

'I agree, Professor.'

'Should we summon the Ministers and hammer something out?'

'Let's do the hammering first.'

Two hours later, shaved and showered, Viktor felt nearly human again. He was listening to Kreacher's latest wires, his wife beside him, and Snape at the end of table with Drago.

'So it would seem Poland is quite convinced.'

'Poland's afraid to lose their trade with Latvia. Once Latvia declared for us, it was a matter of time.'

'Serbia, too. They need those Estonian mermaid scales.'

'So that's taken care of.'

Drago rubbed his head. 'What about France? I'm not…how will we know?'

'The rest of Europe is with us, more or less. France will have little choice except to ally themselves directly with the Dark Lord, and I doubt Morreau wants that.'

'He was eager enough for their coin, Godfather.'

'But not their wolves. If Greyback's as despotic as Pavel seems to think, then there's a real chance those wolves will defect to us if loosed in a country where that was possible.'

'Has he told Morreau that?'

Snape laughed mirthlessly. 'No doubt he's told him in detail how that would be. If Morreau thought those riots last year were ugly, a few thousand half-feral wolves rampaging through France might give him pause.'

'Will it be enough, do you think?'

'Between the reality of his situation here and the political implications of being outed as a traitor, I would say so. If worse comes to worse, Scabior can coerce something out of him. It would be cleaner not to, of course, but…' Snape shrugged to show that needs must is needs must.

'That would leave us open to being challenged.'

'By the time he marshalled the nerve to do, my lord, we'd have what we needed. And it would require his admitting to the country that he'd taken foreign coin. His career would be over and he knows it.'

'Not to mention, Viktor…if this happens, then you wouldn't really be liable to answer the charges if you didn't want to.'

Viktor cocked his head. 'Explain, Drago, please.'

'Mate, those other countries want to ally with you. That makes you and Hermione the heads of it. France can say whatever it wants to, but you'll have most of Europe at your back, and Egypt, and Turkey, and a lot of others. You rather of make the rules now, the two of you.'

Viktor looked at Hermione, who said nothing. 'Drago, we aren't…we didn't…you make it sound like we're Dark Lords or something.'

'Not Dark, but Viktor, you've united Wizarding Europe.'

'To stop the Dark Lord.'

'And then what? You'll disband and everyone goes home like before?'

'Yes.'

Draco shook his head. 'I'll support the both of you no matter what happens, but Viktor, be realistic. Maybe it will happen that way, but what are the odds?'

'Hermione? What do you think?'

'I hope that…Draco might be right, Viktor. Maybe it will be over once it's done, but Britain will need to be rebuilt, for one. War crimes trials for the Death Eaters that survive. Restarting the economy. I don't think we'll just be able to walk away.'

Viktor could taste the truth of it, and it was bitter to him. Bitter to them. It was their homeland they were discussing, and the thought of seeing it in ruins must have been terrible to them.

'No. Of course not. I was being naïve. Apologies, Drago.'

'Not at all. Wish you were right. This is going to be a hell of a mess to clean up. Sorry, Hermione.'

She waved the apology away. 'The point is, we have to be prepared for every potential outcome.'

'Quite so, my lady.'

Uncle Penko knocked and was bidden in. 'Your petition's been rejected, Viktor, but Des's hasn't.'

Snape rose, looking pleased. 'Excellent. It's a start.'

Viktor closed his eyes and breathed a prayer to St. Mikhail. It was, wasn't it?

Anu Tamm could sense the tension in the air as well. He was keeping an eye on his fiancée and brother in law, which is to say that he was studying his reader whilst they slept on the divan, curled up together like puppies. Crookshanks, Hermione's grumpy tom, was with them as well, lying at their heads and glaring at Anu anytime he moved, lest he wake the children.

He sensed another person had joined them and rose, wand drawn, only to realize it was Snape. He lowered his weapon, sighing softly. 'Professor?'

'Walk with me, Tamm?'

'What about Yana and Ivan?'

'Kreacher is here.'

The rest of the Ministry was no more lively. If anything, with most of the wolves gone for the full moon, it was more dead than usual. The door to Morreau's room opened and Arco stumbled out, followed by Pavel.

If Hermione had looked tired and uncomfortable, the men looked ghastly. Both of them had a waxy pallor, dark rings under their eyes and perspiration running down their faces. Up close, they had a feral smell that made Anu want to step back, instinctively nervous around this predatory odour, but might that be unkind? He reminded himself to be charitable and instead looked to Snape.

'Should we call Healer Yokov now, sir?'

'Pavel, do you need something? Arco?'

Both wolves shook their heads. 'No. It's not so bad.'

'If the Vicereine sees, she'll scold you.'

Pavel managed a snort. His teeth, noticed Anu, looked longer and sharper. 'That's true.'

Arco's face tightened. 'If we're not needed, Professor…'

'Go lie down, gentlemen, and I'll send potions to help relieve the pain.'

They walked on quietly, gaining a small tail of dogs. Bess came from a courtyard and bowed, then looked left and right.

'They're in the office, girl.'

She bowed again and headed that way. Snape shook his head, disgusted.

'Salazar has infected them like a miasma.'

'Sir?'

'A disease.'

Anu laughed, more at his tone than anything. 'Does he still owe you, sir?'

'I keep a running tab on him.'

They found a vacant lounge and slipped inside. Snape motioned for Anu to sit down and then sat opposite him.

'You know how vital what you are doing is, Tamm?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. Listen carefully, then.' Snape leant forward and Anu did too, wondering what Snape was about to confide in him. He was slightly startled when the man's hand shot out and took his chin, tugging his head up, but gently. Anu relaxed, knowing Snape wouldn't hurt him.

'If you ever do such a dangerous thing again, boy, I will personally skin you alive, and that's before Malfoy and Krum get their turn at you, to say nothing of the girl, Kask and his sister, and whomever else.'

Anu's eyes widened. 'Sir, I didn't mean to-'

'Slughorn has been doing this for longer than both of us have been alive combined, do you understand?'

'Yes, but-'

'No. If I have reason to believe you are taking unnecessary risks, I will stop things. There are other ways for us to seek out this information that don't involve risking your well-being.'

Anu could have cried. He felt pressure building in his sinuses, and he raised a hand, embarrassed to be acting like a kid. 'No! I mean, you don't need to.'

'Then listen to what we're telling you, boy. It isn't worth your safety. Because make no mistake, Slughorn will use and discard you should it come to that. He's done it before.'

'What about the others?'

'Others?'

'If it's not me, he could go after the others.'

Snape shook his head. 'No. They're too well guarded, for one. And for another, offering yourself as a sacrifice to avert abuse doesn't make things better. It just legitimizes the abuse. I would know, Tamm. You've a chance to stop this, but only if you're willing to let us help you.'

Anu nodded. Had Slughorn hurt Snape? Sirius had said Snape's father was a bad man. A moment of adult clarity came over Anu; it almost didn't matter what had happened, so much as responding to it.

'I'm sorry that happened, Professor.'

'It was long ago, and the person who did it is dead. But thank you. Now, what will you do to see Slughorn doesn't hurt you?'

'No more touching.'

'That's right. A degree of casual contact might be unavoidable, but don't let him touch you. You'll sense the difference, I should think.'

Anu nodded. He had already, after all.

'What else?'

'Take Sirius or Madam Skeeter.'

'And if that should be impossible?'

'I don't know, sir.'

'Neither do I. I was rather hoping you'd have an idea.' Snape's voice was totally deadpan, but Anu thought it was a joke and smiled a little.

'What about Scabior?'

'Scabior?'

'Slughorn's…he doesn't like people who…he likes special people. Do you know what I mean?' Anu knew there was a word he was looking for but he couldn't find it.

'A snob? Yes, he is.'

'Maybe he wouldn't notice Scabior as much?'

Snape's face didn't change, but something about it seemed pleased. 'Just right, boy. He might take some convincing.'

'Scabior? Really?'

'He feels strongly about the issue, I understand.'

'We could talk to him about it.'

Snape nodded. 'Let me try first. Not a word until I have, is that clear?'

'Yes, sir. Professor?'

'Tamm?'

'When this is over, will you all come back here?'

'To visit?'

'No, to stay. We'd all like that. Or I would, and I think the others. And Barty likes it here, and Edric's got school. You know, everything is here.'

'Britain is our home, Tamm.'

'It might be hard to stay there if there's been a war.'

Snape's mouth quirked ever so slightly. 'We shall see. If nothing else, we will take some time to go over your potioning, Malfoy seems to think you've a skill.'

Anu blushed a little, pleased Drago had been bragging about him.

'Nene is better. She makes that ointment.'

'Quite so. I should like more of that before I go.'

'Your knee still hurts?'

'And always shall. Joints don't heal quite like they were, unfortunately.'

Anu fingered his eye patch lightly. 'That's a lot of things, it seems like.'

'Quite so.'

'Professor?'

'Tamm?'

'That boy he was telling me about. Slughorn made the Dark Lord what he is?'

'The Dark Lord was born the way he is, but Slughorn helped him along his path, willingly or not. That might well be the key. I've a stratagem for you to try, if you were so inclined.'

Anu leant forward, wanting more than anything to please Snape and the others. 'What is it?'

'The next time you see Slughorn...'

Snape's suggestions were instructive, and Anu felt wiser when they parted, but older as well. He thought about that as he went for the Floo, and home.

Rita Skeeter was rather at loose ends. She wandered the Ministry, sometimes transforming into her beetle form, sometimes simply finding a quiet place and relaxing. She had had rather a nice chat with Madam Scabior about the best places to shop in Sofia, helped the elves make a batch of baklava, and spent what seemed an interminable amount of time listening to an elf called Norry wail about his general inadequacy in all things. (She was frankly not tempted to disagree on that last, incidentally.)

Now she was just walking a bit, sometimes stopping to admire the architecture of the Ministry, pet a dog or look out a window onto the courtyard, which was very nice in an austere kind of way.

She smelt him before she saw him, a low feral smell like an animal's den, and a tang of salty flesh…or blood (?)…underneath. Rita spun, wand up. She'd never actually met Nicolae Pavel, but she'd seen pictures, and clearly this was him, spare, neat, of average height and aspect. Smiling.

'Sir, you startled me.'

'I didn't mean to, Madam. My sincere apologies.'

She shook her head. 'It's all right. I, ah, what are you, are you quite well?'

'No. I've opted not to transform this month. It is less than pleasant. Snape was good enough to dose me, so I thought some fresh air might help to improve things.'

'I've heard. Would you answer some questions?'

'Not for a paper, I should hope.'

'No. It's habit, I suppose.'

He inclined his head. 'I understand. Where shall we go?'

The two of them settled in a courtyard. 'What would you like to know, Madam Skeeter?'

'Rita.'

'Nicolae.'

'Everything. How did you come to be here?'

'Quid pro quo?'

She had never been asked that. Most men, she'd found, were content to natter about themselves endlessly. It was actually a little nice; she mused, and suddenly found herself wondering how it'd feel to let him touch her.

Don't be stupid, she chided herself, and then tried to bring her thoughts back to focus on her questions. She could do quid pro quo. Perhaps something interesting would come of it.

'All right.'

The courtyard was quiet and cool. The dogs were barking somewhere. His smell was overwhelming, but not in a bad way, she found. It was an antidote to Traver's smell of pomade and too much cologne and the ointment he used on the injuries he'd got in Pavel's raid on the British Ministry a million years before.

'..Rita? Are you quite well?'

'Sorry, yes. Wool gathering. You were one of the people who attacked the Ministry back in '92, weren't you?'

'I was. Myself and a good many of the wolves here, as it happens.'

'It took nerve, striking so directly.

He shrugged one shoulder. 'A strong message, I would say. Were you there?'

'No. I was not well.'

'You were there when the Lestranges and Krums formalized the arrangements, though. I've read the articles.'

'I was, yes.' Who was interviewing whom here?

'You seemed quite content with things then. What changed, if I might ask?'

She tried to find a coherent answer. 'I was disquieted that night by what I saw. She was so very young, Nicolae. So was my lord Krum, but the girl was just so…so small. Like a little doll, all dressed up. Madam Krum-Madam Zhivka Krum, I mean-had made her a sort of little poppet in Bulgarian dress, and it was in the bed with her when we all left.'

Pavel nodded. 'Was it hard, putting a good spin on that?'

'Yes, actually. But I supposed that if her parents didn't mind, it was nothing to me.'

'And then?'

'Snowden.'

'You were at Snowden?' He sounded surprised.

'Yes, by accident. I was supposed to get statements from some of our brave fighting men' her mouth twisted wryly as the awful memories fought to come forward 'and then you attacked.'

'You didn't fight, I take it.'

'No, but I was there when they brought them back. One of them had his face hexed mostly off; he was still trying to scream. I spent the night trying to…there was blood everywhere. And vomit, I remember…' she turned her head aside, forcing down a mouthful of hot bile.

'What about you?'

'At Snowden? I was leading the vanguard. We engaged them in this copse of trees. I remember, they were the kind called-poplar, I think, in English?-there was this shower of leaves and bows as the trees got hit. I was trying to get close to Goyle, but he pulled out before I could.'

'Did you take many casualities?'

'Not too bad, that time. A handful, but…' He shrugged again. 'We can always go to ground, you know. We were hiding in this old mine. It smelt like death inside, but it was safe.'

'That must have been ghastly.'

'It was no picnic. Why did you decide to help us? Snowden was long ago.'

Rita inhaled and started to explain about Travers. Pavel held up a hand.

'I know about that much. Whitnell and the rest.'

'I was with him when we found out. And he just…he laughed it off. And I realized, then, what I'd been doing. I'd sent those poor boys to their deaths, but if I didn't do something now, I was damned. Really damned.'

'I understand.'

'What about you?'

Pavel seemed to pause for consideration. 'My government didn't ally with the Dark Lord, so that was the official reason. For me? Do you know what Wales is like under Greyback? The wolf parts of it?'

She shook her head. Pavel's eyes were gleaming. His smell was stronger, a hard animalistic smell of dens and dark places. 'The whole north of the country is his, what isn't established villages or towns. He lords over it like a god. Nothing happens he doesn't approve.'

'The people live in crude huts, ten and fifteen to a room. Sanitation is non-existant. The outhouses are just holes in the ground. The food is cooked in common pots and distributed twice a day, so people sneak into the woods and trap birds and mice. Getting caught means a beating. If one is lucky.'

'The infant mortality rate is something like sixty percent for children under five. The maternal mortality rate is three in ten. Disease is rife, and everyone has parasites of various kinds. And there are worse rumours floating about.'

Rita leant forward. 'Like what?'

'Greyback has the most beautiful girls paraded before him nightly and chooses one for his bed, and his lieutenants. He sends men to find them, pimps that scour every dwelling. Some of those girls are twelve and thirteen years old, Rita. It's an abomination.'

'And I realized-this is what he wants for all of us. The Dark Lord would herd each and every wolf in Europe into a squalid pen like that, unless and until he could get some use from us. I won't die that way. I'll fight.'

'And that's why you joined with Krum?'

'I joined with Krum because I'd rather a Dark Lord who treats people well. And a chance at Greyback. He and I had an encounter once. I'd like to finish our conversation.' He grinned, teeth very white and very long. She knew what he meant to bring Greyback.

'I, ah…yes. I see.'

'Do you?'

He held out a hand, and she took it. His skin burnt on hers, clean, hot, like a cleansing flame. They found a disused room and undressed in the dark and quiet.

When he entered her, Rita started to sob. She'd forgot how sweet it could be. He was careful. He asked. And he gave back.

After, naked, they twined together on a conjured mattress.

'It helped?'

'Yes. You?'

'Yes' he said, and they did it three more times.


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Spoiler A/N at the bottom. It was really weird writing Viktor with an accent after so long not having to do it.**

Morreau snapped like a twig sometimes round hour twenty-six, but Hermione was not there to see it. She was bidding farewell to her husband, who handed her his ring, kissed her cheek, and then presented her with a small hard parcel.

'If something should happen to me, Bulgaria is in your hands.'

'Nothing will happen to you.'

He laughed softly. 'Is that an order?'

'You know it is.'

'I do know it. I love you. Be safe.'

'Love you to. Say hello to them all for me.'

They kissed a final time and he stepped into the carriage, with Snape on one side and the priest, leaning on his cane, on the other. Sirius bounded up as Salazar and they rose into the sky, headed for Durmstrang.

She didn't have time to look at the parcel until later. She handed it to Kreacher and then went to see Morreau, shaking her head. Alise fell in beside her, holding a basket of food and a small bottle of wine.

'Lem says he's willing to talk.'

'Good. He's not…?'

'He's lucid.'

'Draco?'

'There already.'

Scabior came out just as they got there. He bowed a little and grinned. 'Mr. Malfoy's in there rite now, Flower. E gives you any trouble, you jus lets me know, yeah?'

'I will, Scabior, thank you. Why don't you two take some time?'

They walked off, hand in hand, and Hermione, basket in hand, went inside. The room smelt terrible. Morreau had wet himself, more than once, and worse. He's also thrown up, but at least the elves had removed the traces of that from the floors.

'Minister Morreau, good to see you.'

Morreau raised his head. He had not showered or changed clothes since they'd raided his room, and he smelt appalling. His stupid moustache was bushy and frayed. His eyes were dull.

'Vicereine. Were those your memories?'

'Some of them were. You want to make a formal statement, I take it?'

Morreau nodded. 'And talk to a priest.'

'We'll send for one. Kreacher, ask the Polish Minister to send us someone, we haven't got the right variety here.'

Within five minutes, Uncle Rumen had arrived, with a stenographer, a notary, two priests (one of each kind, the Poles having brought one in their retinue), a scowling Paavo Kask, Enver Vata as their emissary to Albania and Anu as messenger.

Their own priest led the group in a benediction, dwelling at length on famous givers of false witness and their torments in Hell, and then Uncle Rumen took over.

'You are Aurelien Morreau?'

'I am he.'

'Your father was Felix Morreau?'

'He was.'

'You wish to admit your guilt in this affaire?'

'I do.'

'When did you decide to betray us?'

'Walden Mcnair came to me last month. I don't know who tipped him, but he offered me a large sum of money in order that I should…'

He talked a long time. Halfway through, when she was sure he'd said enough, Hermione handed him the small bottle of wine from the basket, and some bread and cheese to munch on. He ate like a starving animal.

'…and so you came here, intent on selling us to the British in return for these things?'

'I did.'

'Your wife?'

'Innocent and ignorant of it all.'

'I believe that.' Hermione spoke up for the first time in nearly an hour. 'Alise Scabior, my assistant, has spent the past time with Madam Morreau, and vouches for her. Your wife is quite a personable lady, Minister.'

'Is she…is she alive?'

'Alive and well.'

He sagged, relieved, and Hermione almost pitied him. Almost. But he'd planned on bringing death and ruin to most of Europe, and that tempered her. She'd save her mercy for those who merited it.

'Thank you, Minister. Rest now, and shower. We've a medi-wizard to check you over, as well.'

'I would like to speak to the priest.'

'Of course.'

'Will you…will you kill me after, then?'

Hermione darted her eyes to Draco, who took the reins. He bent over, ignoring the foul smell, and gentle patted Morreau's shoulder.

'Of course not, Minister. You're of ever so much more use to us alive, aren't you?'

It was a feast to end all feasts. Truly, the elves had outdone themselves in this, thought Hermione, nibbling a bit of tender skin from the roast suckling pig. The dining room was lit as though for a wedding, and elves with decanters of finest wine hovered attentively.

Next to her, Draco was smiling gently, presumably at Vaike, who was eating with the Estonians. Anu was next to Aunt Sose, who'd surprised them by coming, and Scabior was heading the small British contingent.

'My lady cousin, are we nearly ready?'

She nodded, setting down her fork. 'Have him brought in, Seneschal, if you would.'

Draco gave Kreacher the nod and Morreau was brought in, cleaned and fed. His eyes had the dull sheen suggesting that he was either heavily sedated or so deeply in despair that he had come out the other side and into serenity. He was manacled hand and foot, and had to be helped, walking like an old man.

The ministers stopped talking. A low, somnolent hum filled the room. Uncle Rumen, looking very ministerial in his robes and chain of office, stood up.

'I have here the statement of Aurelien Felix Georges Marie Morreau, confessing to his crime. It is as follows.'

Hermione only heard bits of it. She was watching the faces about her. Osma Pasha, who was eating behind a charm designed to keep her from being seen, donned her face veil and moved so she was visible. The others, too, tensed.

'…did agree to hand over all correspondences, and provide a record of all events in the form of Pensieve memories, in return for a sum totally 100,000 Galleons, or 1.3 million Louis d'Or…'

'…did agree to receive sole control of the territories of…'

'…did agree to provide ten thousand young people of the conquered lands in order to provide the Dark Lord with an army to…'

'…did agree that in return he would receive the following antiquities: the statue of Anubis from Sakara, the frescoes from the same, gold and ivory vessels…'

The hum had become a soft roar, like an incoming tide. Hermione was glad Morreau was well-shielded; several ministers looked agitated enough to try to kill him.

Uncle Rumen finished. Hermione knew her part in all this, and stepped toward his shielded chair.

'This is a true and accurate account, Minister?'

'It is.'

'Do you swear it?'

'I-I do.'

'According to our laws, this man should die.'

Now! Hermione stepped fully forward. She was aware of the power that surrounded her, that clung to her like perfume. She felt it swirling about her in long wisps, like a skirt of finest lace, like her own hair.

'Bulgaria is merciful as well as just, Uncle. I hereby commute this man's sentence. Strike off his chains.'

Scabior did it, and Morreau straightened up for the first time. He looked afraid now, unsure. Good. She was Hermione Bellatrix Lestrange Krum, and she was not afraid. Power was filling her, she felt as though she glowed with it. For the first time, she felt like the Vicereine deep inside herself, as though they'd merged, finally.

'But neither can his crime go unpunished. Seneschal?'

Draco took the scroll from the elf.

'In the name of Viktor, Lord Protector and Vicereine of Bulgaria, let the said Morreau be sent back to his own country. Let an honour guard of wolves accompany him, and let them bear a Portkey that will allow the aforesaid Lord Protector and Vicereine, or their representatives, free and total access to his person, his country and his allies.'

'Let him offer no fewer than five thousand wizards and witches to aid our army, and let him tell no one. Let him make no move without the leave of this assembly, and let his wife, Claudette Morreau, stay with the aforesaid Lord Protector and Vicereine as a guest at their pleasure, and as a bond of good behaviour.'

The Ministers were quiet. 'You will let him return to France and govern?'

Hermione found she had no need to gird herself, as she usually did, for battle. 'Removing him will give the Dark Lord notice that he's been found out, and an accident would seem a touch too providential, don't you think?'

The Latvian Minister spoke up. 'He would have sold our children into slavery.'

'He's a tiger with no teeth.'

'How can you be sure?'

She smiled at Draco. 'My cousin had promised to personally crush any insurrection Morreau might try to mount, Minister. They do call him the Traitorsbane for a reason.'

'The Portkey would enable us to invade any time it seemed advisable, sir. We could have five thousand men on the ground in less than four hours.' Draco spoke up, still smiling a little. It was disquieting, that calmly cheerful look.

'You've led an army before, young man?' The Turkish Minister, who cocked his head gravely, light gleaming off his spectacles.

'Seneschal Malfoy, Minister. And yes, I have. I led the parlay at Castle Krum and personally directed the wolves at Castle Dinev.'

'You are prepared to do this thing? You are a schoolboy.'

'And a general, and kinsman to the Vicereine of Bulgaria.'

'Minister, what cause have we given you thus far to doubt us? Would it soothe you to see it played out?'

'Played out, Vicereine?'

'After dinner, a Pensieve will be made available to any who would see it. Give us a little time to prepare things, if you would all be so good.'

She and Draco made short work of it, with Uncle Penko assisting. He was quiet, unusually reserved. Hermione frowned, embracing him. 'Is something the matter?'

'I'm worried about Viktor, darling. It's nothing you did.'

'You're pleased with how it went?'

'More or less. That was quick thinking, the Pensieve.'

'Thank you.'

'Hermione?'

'Yes, Uncle?'

'It breaks my heart that you need do this. It does, it breaks my heart.'

'What does?'

He kissed her forehead lightly and didn't answer her. She didn't press.

An hour later, Hermione was carefully pouring Osma Pasha a cup of tea. The older woman had shucked her veil and abaya, and was relaxing in a caftan in Hermione's private sitting room.

'They call you the Unburnt, you know.'

'Do they?'

'When Ali' her son in law, and the same Mr. Aziz who'd arranged this whole thing 'told me that, I thought it was a…a morbid joke or something. But it wasn't. Were you afraid, child?'

'When I did it? No. I was afraid…when the parents came. It was terrible.'

'I imagine it was. I see now what we are up against.'

'The Dementors, you mean.'

'A society that could produce a girl with the raw power to do a thing like that.'

Hermione forced herself not to react. 'Oh.'

'Don't look like that, I didn't mean it as an insult. But surely you see why this might be…disquieting to us, child? It is frightening that you can do that.'

'I know.'

'If you are that strong, and the others almost that strong, what might your Dark Lord do?'

'I have never seen him do magic, Osma Pasha.'

'No, but it does rather give one pause. What do your parents say?'

'About the Dark Lord?'

'About all of it.'

'You have to understand, Osma Pasha, that they aren't…they aren't Death Eaters to me.'

Osma Pasha's eyes softened. 'Of course they aren't. Anyone can see they love you very much. It's evident in every line of your body, in the way you hold yourself. But child, do they know?'

'They do. They didn't train me to…well, they did, but not like that.'

'And that tall thin man in the white shirt?'

'Bartemius Crouch Jr, a family friend.'

'He was the fourth of their number, was he not?'

'Yes.'

Osma Pasha nodded. 'Egypt will join you, my child. Because at the end of the day, whatever else is true, that Dark Lord must be stopped. He is a menace to us all. But one does wonder whether…there is great potential here for disaster.'

'Yes, I know.'

'If I give you Egypt's vow, will you give me yours? A personal promise, if you like.'

'What is it?'

'That will you not fall, no matter the cost. After things have settled down a bit, send word and I will give you something to channel that energy into.'

Hermione raised a brow. 'How so?'

Osma Pasha smiled a little. 'I would like to send a few of my grandchildren to your school. In return, perhaps I could send a seer as well? And a mage?'

'I would like that'

'I thought you might.'

In Britain, Viktor had just entered the room where Grandmama was passing the last few miserable weeks of her life. She was propped up in bed, and a single look at her told him that she was dying. His knees nearly buckled at the sight of her, skin grey and loose, eyes glazed as though made of glass, a chest that looked more bone than flesh slowly pushing up and down as she panted with effort.

'My lord' said Snape very quietly in his ear 'she is under heavy sedation to help with the pain. I wouldn't expect much.'

'She asked for me, though?'

'She did.'

Viktor approached slowly. '_Grandmama_?'

Her glazed eyes flickered with awareness. _'Viktor? You came_.'

He could smell it on her breath, the ripe scent of corruption, her very body turned against her at last. He bit down a slightly hysterical chuckle-if he was lucky, this is how he would die, a few bad weeks in a warm bed at the end of decades, rather than a short, violent life and his face pressed into blood-wet soil somewhere.

The bedclothes were writhing. He stepped back, and a dozen heads poked out, twenty four oil drop eyes regarding him with curiosity. Snakes, he thought, slightly nervous for no reason he could name. He touched one. It was warm, even as Grandmama was cold. It slithered out and made for the fire, where a dozen more were warming themselves in front of the grate. They were soaking up heat, toasting themselves to act as heating elements to warm her dying bones. Absurdly, he wanted to thank them, kiss them.

_'I did. And your priest, too. If you'd like.'_

The priest stepped forward and bowed. _'My lady.'_

_'We are…too…old for this. I regret you…had to come so…far.'_

The priest bent slowly toward her. _'I have served the Borevs for ninety two years, my lady. I'd be remiss not to come now.'_

_'To be…at the end as you…were at the…beginning.'_

_'I remember your wedding day, my lady, and the births of your children. I wouldn't miss the final starting of your journey for anything.'_

Grandmama smiled a little, teeth grey in her lipless, white-tinged mouth. _'Viktor is here. I can…die soon_.'

Viktor sat in the chair and took the tiny, bony claw in his. _'What can I do for you, Grandmama?'_

_'Forgive…them. I saw…my daughter…in my dreams. She told…me to tell…you to forgive them.'_

_'Forgive whom, Grandmama?'_

_'Your father and…whomever else.'_

_'I…I will try.'_

_'Good boy. Good…she loves you so…much, Viktor. She is never…far from you. Never. Nor will I…be. When you need us…we will come.'_

He nodded, eyes hot and burning._ 'Thank you.'_

_'The roses. When you…she…Zhivka always loved roses.'_

_'I've brought you something_.' He reached into his cloak and brought out the phial of rose otto, sprinkled some on his handkerchief and tucked it into her hand. She smiled.

_'They will…come soon and…I will go. It has been…so beautiful. Zhivka…Bogdan_…' His mother and grandfather.

Viktor's neck was prickling. All at once, it seemed to him that the room was full of ghosts. He could almost see them, smell them. Could Grandmama?

Her eyes were sliding closed. The priest gently touched his shoulder and he rose to give the man room. He had been acolyte to his own priest as a boy, and so when the prayers started, he took up the chant, thinking of nothing, relieved to have eased her.

The priest shooed him out to hear her confession, if she wished to give it, and comfort her with memories of their shared youth. Viktor went passed his father's room but the door was closed, and he didn't want to knock. Not right now.

'Viktor?'

Aunt Hetty opened her door, with Nagini directly behind her, watching him with fathomless eyes. He bowed, noticing the small swell of her belly, and the way she moved more carefully now, shielding her stomach.

'Come walk with Nagini and me?'

It was cool on the balcony, but bracing. He looked into the sky and remembered flying a thousand years before, and the sudden death-chill of the Dementors. That had been Malfoy Manor, of course, but England would always remind him of that, the moment of panicked understanding. His first thought had been for his wife, spending time with her aunt and uncle on the ground, and then Anu, who was a good flyer but not nearly up to escaping the things on the horizon.

'I hope I did not give offense in not translating the conversation just now. I did not think of it.'

'No, not al all. How are you, love?'

'Very tired, Aunt Hetty. Yourself?'

'We're all right.' Nagini came between them and tipped her head, clearly requesting a scratch. He smoothed his hand over her scales, noting their smooth shininess.

'I'm sorry about your grandmother. She's a wonderful lady.'

'She is. Fighty, too. She led a battle against trolls in a blizzard, vonce.'

'Really?'

'Mmm hmm.' He pictured her, black-haired, young, waving the men and dogs forward fearlessly, striking the first blow against the bellowing troll, dodging his club on feet not yet lamed by arthritis or swollen with chill-blains.

'It's good you could come. She wanted very much to see you.'

'We miss her at home.'

Aunt Hetty nodded sympathetically. 'She's been of great help here. Uncle Erasmus is devoted to her, and Aunt Cunegarde.'

'Are they all vright?'

'As well as could be expected. Viktor, it's really none of my business…'

'Please, go on.'

'You know I'm an orphan, don't you?'

'I do, yes.'

He wasn't sure where this was going, but she looked quite serious, and he trusted her impulses, and so said nothing.

'It's painful, isn't it, to feel rejected by the person who's supposed to love you the very most?'

On the line, a statue of a satyr was squabbling with a water nymph. He lowered his head and charged and she dealt him a solid blow with her amphora. They reeled back and it began again.

'I have a duty, Aunt Hetty.'

'Of course you do. And every right to be angry about what happened.'

He felt a small thrill of surprise trickle down his spine. 'I am not angry.'

'Why not? I would be.'

'He is my father.'

'Of course he is.'

Viktor had been angry, to be sure. But no one had ever so baldly suggested that he ought to just let himself be angry about it. He just felt disgusted and tired and sad.

'Ve talked about vhat happened vhen ve came in June. Father and I.'

'Did it help?'

'No. He doesn't…he isn't vright in the head now.'

'No.' She gently patted his hand. 'He isn't, sweetheart. He's sick.'

'I know.'

'But that doesn't make it fair or right, and don't feel like you have to forgive this if you really can't.'

'My grandmother has asked me.'

'I know. But darling, she understands that it's hard. Look how she stuck by your uncle…Stefan, I mean, sorry…when he became…less than ideal.'

'It is not the same. I have a duty to honour him.'

'You can honour him and not feel all right about what happened. You can honour him and be angry with him.'

Viktor sighed. Nagini had quietly slipped round him as Aunt Hetty spoke, and now he was surprised to find her looking at him from his own height, tongue flicking across his cheeks comfortingly.

'Nagini thinks so too.'

'Does she?'

Aunt Hetty touched the snake with enormous tenderness, hand caressing the vast spine. 'Nagini knows quite a bit about how it feels to be in a relationship with someone who doesn't act like they ought to.'

Viktor reached out a hand and slowly mimicked Aunt Hetty. The snake hissed, tongue darting, eyes half-closed with pleasure. 'She vreally is beautiful.'

'And clever, too. Ever since that horrible thing with that fellow, she's been getting all our meat herself.'

'Vreally?'

Aunt Hetty was still stroking the snake. 'Deer and hare, mainly. The garden give us vegetables, the coop eggs. The less we need to have brought in…'

The less chance there was of a Blagoev. 'A vise precaution. Aunt Sose has sent goats, though. And something to help you…for your health.'

'How sweet. How are they? The family?'

'It is a hard time for us. Everything is changing.'

Aunt Hetty patted his shoulder again. 'We all know you can do this, love.'

It helped to hear that. Viktor pecked her cheek. 'Have you thought about names yet?'

'We have. Erasmus for a boy, Eda for a girl. That was Aunt Cunegarde's mother's name. We wanted to just call the baby Cunegarde, but Aunt wouldn't hear of it.'

'Family names, then.' Viktor nodded approvingly. He was called for his grandfather, after all.

'We know how to spell them already.' She giggled winsomely and Viktor smiled. The three of them stood on the balcony under the summer sky and looked at the stars.

In Bulgaria, Hermione slid into the bed. She hadn't slept alone in forever, so she'd asked Alise to join her. Scabior could spend the night with the unmarried men, playing cards and making off-colour jokes.

Alise sighed. 'It's so strange, isn't it, that we're both married?'

'Are you happy, Alise?'

'Extremely. Lem is wonderful, my English is getting better by the day and the children are going to be out of the hospital soon.'

'Poor Rada, though.' Rada had suffered permanent damage, though the form that would take remained to be seen.

Alise slid her hand into Hermione's. 'There's nothing you could have done.'

'I know. It just bothers me.'

'It's not like she won't be taken care of, Hermione. We'll find her something.'

'That's true too.'

Hermione leant back against the pillows. 'Alise?'

'Hmm?'

'If you thought I was slipping, would you say something?'

'Slipping?'

'Everyone is convinced I'm going to become a Dark witch.'

Alise handed her a mug from the tray that had appeared. Tisane to help the girls sleep after their hard day, courtesy of Aunt Sose, who had mentioned timidly that Hermione looked too pale.

'Are you?' Alise sipped tisane and looked at her directly, unwilling to dance round the issue. Hermione's tongue darted out to lick her lips.

'I hope not.'

'I don't think you are.'

'Really?'

'If you were, you wouldn't worry about it so much.'

Hermione nibbled her lip. 'If you notice things, though, you'll say something?'

'I will.'

'Promise?'

'Promise.'

Hermione looked up as Kreacher came for the clothes she'd had on early in the day. He reached into her pocket and came out with the parcel Viktor had given her. 'Mistress?'

'Bring it here, please, Kreacher. I forgot in the excitement.'

It was a sort of broach, clearly ancient. Viktor had included a note in it.

'Miraslava would be proud of you. So am I.'

Hermione touched it, feeling the twin chains of her husband's love and her debt to history and was relieved. She couldn't fall-she was being held fast by her loved ones, and that was all for the good.

**Spoiler A/N: I feel conflicted here. Having had some experience with this, I'm with Hetty in fully advocating that people should do what is necessary to protect themselves from emotional pain when it comes to with relatives whose behaviour is injurious to them, including validating socially-unacceptable feelings. Sometimes it's a choice between emotional wellness or continuing in a situation where one party, through some mental illness or other issue, is doing serious harm to another.**

**On the other hand, Elisaveta is worried about her grandson, and loves him, and wants to see the wound healed before she dies. I can sympathise with that, and with her sincere good intentions. So I'm not saying I necessarily think she's right, but that both sides are working from a position of genuinely wanting the best possible outcome in this incredible challenging and painful situation.**


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**TRIGGER WARNING: This is the first chapter of this story I've seriously contemplated not publishing due to content. I am genuinely sickened and horrified by Slughorn throughout all this. **

**AT NO POINT IS SLUGHORN SHOWN ACTUALLY ABUSING A CHILD. That said, this chapter is fairly blunt in its assessment of Slughorn, his motives and the exact lengths to which he is willing to go. **

**This is the truly frightening face of evil-an otherwise average person capable of understanding the difference, who makes the deliberate choice to do something irredeemable and goes about it without a flicker of remorse. The Dark Lord was arguable destined for monstrousness, which is a kind of tragedy all its own-but Slughorn chooses this.**

**Also, if Tamm seems slightly OOC at various points, remember his conversation with Snape at the Ministry about strategems...**

**Horace Slughorn paid no mind to the odd little man who accompanied Tamm to his lesson**, except to note that the fellow had a scruffy looking book with him, and was wearing odd plaid trousers and a bright purples shirt, with a mustard waistcoat on top.

His interest was on Tamm, who looked shyly at him from under long lashes like a girl's, encouraging him, showing that he understood. Slughorn's heart jumped into his chest and he sighed softly, wondering how to rid them of the clownish little man who'd ruin everything through his presence.

_'*Hello there, Tamm. And Mr...?*'_

_'*Scabior. Lemuel Scabior, sir. You aint know me, but I werks fer the Vicereine, and er father fore that.*'_

The accent was pure gutter, one of those filthy towns that ran on industry and coal dust and spewed out children and potions part, grist for the mills of a society run by their betters.

'_*Oh?*'_

_'*Y'sir.*'_

That name was familiar, somehow. Not a student, the fellow was too young for that, but someone... Slughorn shrugged mentally. Probably Metellus's mistress had run one of those inane articles in Witches' Weekly about him.

_'*You've brought a book, I see.*'_

_'*Y'sir.*'_

_'*Good fellow. Bettering yourself and all that.*'_

Tamm and the little guttersnipe both stiffened. Tamm spoke first.

_'*My Nene is just learning to read, and she's a fine lady.*'_

_'*Of course, of course! No harm meant!*'_ Nearly a misstep, and his plans had suffered enough delays to the other fellow's presence.

Then a flash of inspiration hit him, like the bolt that struck down Capaneus and threw him from the city walls. Slughorn reached into his own waistcoat and handed out two coins.

_'*My elf is out, and some roza wouldn't go amiss. Be a good fellow, won't you?*'_

The fellow said nothing, looking at him like he had three heads. Tamm tilted his head, hand stealing into his pocket as though to touch a good luck charm. Could this vulgar little man be sympathetic to him? To them, perhaps?

_'*Awrite, s'pose as I cuds.*'_

He took the coins and slid out the door and into the twilight darkness. The air was cool and blue, and the flowers still perfumed the air. It was, felt Slughorn, a sign.

Slughorn had sent his elf away, lest the creature not understand, or report back to the Ministry some half-true, sensationalised yarn. It was just him and Tamm, together.

_'*Well, Tamm, have you been studying your lessons?*'_

_'*Yes, sir. Hermione help me sometimes.*'_

_'*That's good. Sit, sit, please. Wine?*'_

_'*Can't. It's haraam.*'_

_'*Sorry?*'_

_'*Not allowed.*'_

_'*Surely just a little wouldn't hurt?*'_

He'd added a sprinkle-just a sprinkle, no more than that!-of beebleberry powder to the stuff, to help ease Tamm's nerves should he decide to grant his favours.

_'*Haraam.*'_

Tamm's jaw, still soft and girlish, set, and Slughorn, charmed by his stubbornness, subsided for a moment. There were other ways, perhaps better ways, to do this.

Tamm took up his usual place and opened his reader. Slughorn reached over and closed it, letting their hands almost touch.

_'*Not yet. Tell me, have you thought about what I've told you?*'_

_'*Yes. Magic. Powerful magic.*'_

_'*Indeed. What is the strongest magic of all, Tamm, do you recall?*'_

Tamm's voice was curiously flat and soft. '_*Dark magic.'*_

_'*Love. Love is the strongest magic. There are many kinds of love. Agape, divine love. Philia, affectionate love, as between friends. Philadelphia, love of one's brothers, or comrades. And Eros. Do you know that one?*'_

_'*Love like between a man and his sweetheart.*'_

_'*Quite right, but it can be more than that, as well.*'_

Slughorn leant closer. _'*Have you ever felt love like that, Tamm?*'_

Tamm's voice was soft, still, but urgent._ '*What about love for ideas?*'_

_'*Love of knowledge, you mean?*'_

_'*Love of other things.*'_

_'*Power?*'_

_'*Maybe.*'_

Tamm shrugged evasively, teasing him. Slughorn tried not to smile, knowing this, wondering whether the Dark Lord, Tom Riddle that was, would be pleased to know the boy was on his way to becoming a Dark wizard in his own right.

_'*Ambition is not evil. Inferior sorts of people will tell you that, Tamm. Do you know why?*'_

_'*Because they're weak.*'_

_*'Yes! Yes, precisely. They don't understand that superior people have...needs, desires that...well, some things are allowable indulgences for the higher orders which we must surpress in the lower. Do you see?*'_

Tamm nodded. _'*That boy. With the ring. Did he love power?*'_

_'*And Darkness, Tamm. You would do well to model yourself on him.*'_

_'*What was his name?*'_

_'*Tom. His name was Tom.*'_

_'*Did you teach him?*'_

_'*I taught him many things.*'_

_'*Dark things?*'_

_'*Some of them.*'_

Tamm nodded. _'*And his ring? Was it Dark too?*'_

Slughorn smiled, shaking his head at the memory. '

_*I wouldn't know. He was a very powerful wizard, nothing he did surprised me.*'_

_'*I've a ring. Perhaps you could teach it to me?*'_

Tamm held up his hand and showed off the ring, a simple gold signet ring, clearly old. Slughorn gently bent and took his hand, examining it as a pretext. Tamm's skin was hard, callused on the palm. Tom's had been soft, warm, mobile.

_'*Perhaps I can. Someday.*'_

_'*Someday.*'_

_'*It was quite a special ring, as I recall.*'_

'_*Does it have to be a special kind of ring, then? Or could it be anything?*'_

Slughorn felt his inner voice warning him to stop, stop at once. Had he not damned himself by telling Tom Riddle this that night? Would it not damned him doubly, corrupting this young boy?

But, said a smaller part of him, a voice that weaselled and justified and cajoled, if Tamm was to be a Dark wizard, would it not be better to control it? Would it not be advisable to steward him through it? A Dark wizard was a very good thing to be these days. Look at Snape-a guttersnipe like that oddly-dressed fellow, chief advisor to the Dark Lord, killer of no less a personage than Albus Dumbledore.

And it seemed to him, the voice said, the others would shortly follow. Not, perhaps, the Bulgarian, not right away, but surrounded by the Lestrange heiress and the Malfoy lad, surely it was just a matter of time. When it came to pass, it might please them to have an experienced theoretician about, to guide them.

Not that he, himself, was a Dark wizard, of course. No, not at all, but surely it's better for young people to have a reliable person to turn to for guidance? And then perhaps they might overlook his assignation with Tamm?

_'*Anything could be a Dark object, Tamm. Of course, it's considered good form to choose something suitable to the enterprise.*'_

_'*Like what?*'_

_'*An object of historial significance. Some relic of a past wizard known for their skills. Or else something of great aesthetic value. A rare pearl, a painting. Something beautiful. Beauty has it's own power, Tamm, as you'll discover in time.*'_

_'*A person?*'_

_'*If one did things just right.*'_

Tamm nodded. _'*Just right how?*'_

'_*All the sigils of binding would need to be perfect, for one. The proper sacrifices made, the right words said at precisely the proper instant. But of course, it will be some years before you are ready to hear about that.*'_

Tamm nodded._ '*And now?*'_

Before he could answer, the door flew open, and the odd little man darted in, dripping blood on the carpets.

_'*Sum blokes trieds to takes me off!*'_ He held out a bottle of roza, dripping with rubies.

_'*Sorry?*'_

_'*Tried t robs me, they did!*'_

Tamm jumped up and handed over his handkerchief. '_*You're bleeding.*'_

_'*Ah, no, it aints me own blood. Still, gots yer roza, sir.*'_

The rest of their time was a normal lesson, but Slughorn was jubilant inside. Things were moving forward. He would come out on top once again.

**Snape received the memory late that night, but couldn't watch it directly**, as Elisaveta was in her final agonies, and he, with her grandson, the ladies of Feathering and poor addled Erasmus, were waiting for the end with her.

The priest was chanting in a hard, monotonous cadence, rising and falling. Even now, Elisaveta mouthed the responses, too weak to speak them, and the lad did as well, tears dripping down his face.

The door opened and a shadow came into the room, resolving itself into Martin Krum, who hovered by the door, clearly unsure of what to do. Snape cursed himself for not being a half-second faster; he might have had Mippy shoo the man and sedate him, giving Krum a little time to tend his dying grandmother.

_'Viktor? Viktor?_'

The idiot dog, bless him, interceded, swiftly getting Krum Sr quiet and sitting on the far side of the room, head down, sometimes seeming to mutter the responses, sometimes falling silent.

There was a commotion downstairs, the hiss of the Floo. Snape tensed and Krum Jr rose, wand drawn, eyes as hard as volcanic glass. The priest kept chanting and Black transformed, quick as a wink. Nagini pulled up as though to strike, hissing a low, dangerous hiss that instinctively made Snape want to pull back, want to flee the larger predator.

Cunegarde motioned to her elf. 'All of you stay here. I will send them away.'

She hovered out, head as high as a queen's. Snape had never liked the bitter old cow, but he found he truly admired her, and that, to him, was the highest compliment he could give.

Then her voice, strident as a caw.

'And I say you shall not! Madam Boreva is preparing to join her ancestors! Would you disrupt her journey and sin yourselves by doing such a thing?'

'The Ministry sends deepest condolences for your loss, of course, but it is necessary that we should-'

Erasmus motioned to his own elf, and floated toward them. 'Madam, is there a problem?'

'This common woman believes she should be allowed to speak to Elisaveta!'

'It is thought she might have knowledge of-'

Snape saw Krum's hands knotting into fists. He shook his head, grimacing, and gestured to the gardrobe. Elves appeared, bundling Krum inside, and the priest with him.

Justin time, as aurors shoved their way in. 'Ministry business, citizens. Drop your wands.'

They all did it. The two oldest people in the house floated in, Cunegarde shaking with rage. 'Shame on you! Shame, shame!'

Umbridge, resplendently hideous in fuschia and an absurd little bow in her curls. Snape could smell her from his place, fully two metres to the left of her. The dog and snake were closing on her, Black growling deep in his belly, fur stiffly standing up, teeth bared.

'Elisaveta Boreva?'

'Madam is past speech.' Eugenia looked livid, angrier than he'd ever seen her.

'Madam Boreva, have you heard from your grandson lately? His wife?'

Elisaveta's mouth opened. She gasped, her final extremity upon her.

'Madam? Can you nod? Nod yes or no.'

'Have you no decency? Leave her in peace, Umbridge.'

'Remove Madam Rabastan Lestrange, she's obstructing Ministry business.'

An auror stepped toward her and Black snapped at him, eyes wild. Nagini was directly behind, tail lashing, mouth open in a dangerous, sibilant whisper.

'Call off the beast! That mongrel tried to attack me!'Umbrige pulled up like an angry toad, flailing her arms stupidly.

'He was defending Madam Lestrange. He is partial to her.'

'Snape, have these people removed at once. Ministry business-'

'Is rooting out spies and dangerous elements, not tormenting a dying old woman. Leave, Delores, and I shan't mention this to the Dark Lord.'

'You've no authority over me! Walden Mcnair said-'

'ENOUGH!' Everyone turned and looked at Erasmus, who had straightened in his wheeled chair as much as he could, seemingly lucid for a moment.

'This scene is disgraceful. Leave this house at once and never return.'

'Mister Feathering, I am authorised to tell you-'

'I am master of this house, and I demand you leave it without delay!'

Eugenia spoke up. 'Is anyone here under detainment, Madam Umbridge?'

Umbridge turned, her eyes speaking of hate too deep and too wide for words. 'They are not. Currently speaking.'

'Then according to civil code 840, you're trespassing. I suggest you leave at once.'

'Surely you are not trying to say-'

'Mippy, go to the auror's station and report a sneak thief has broken in.'

Umbridge seemed to swell with rage like a toad. 'You dare! You dare accuse a Ministry employee of-?'

Martin stood up. 'Ve hear nothing from son Viktor and now.' He must have guessed the topic, or else understood exactly enough of what was going on to be able to respond.

Snape took the opportunity to move toward Umbridge, seize her clammy elbow. 'I will escort you personally, Delores.'

Umbridge was seething, absolutely glowing with rage. 'You have made a grave mistake, Severus! All of you have made an enemy of me!'

Snape dropped his voice. 'I would reconsider your stance, Delores. My Floo connects directly to the Dark Lord's private sanctum. Does yours? I thought not.'

Umbridge opened her mouth to protest and Snape continued. 'The Floos of every person here-again, excepting yourself-does precisely the same. His lordship will hear from us long before he hears from you. And so will Bellatrix, her husband, Lucius Malfoy and his son. Do you want that?'

Umbridge shook her head. 'But Walden said-'

'Mcnair did not suffer the torments of Azkaban for the Cause. Eugenia's husband did. Consider that before you speak more of this.'

Umbridge nodded. Snape didn't relinquish his hold. On the other side of the bed, Black was shepherding the aurors toward the door, Nagini waiting for them, tail still swishing dangerously.

Umbridge went when he gave her a gentle shove. Nagini slammed the door after them with her tail, and then Snape, noticed that Elisaveta wasn't breathing anymore. Lily, help me with the boy. He deserved better than this tawdry show.

'My lord Krum? Your grandmother's journey has started.'

Krum helped the priest out first and then came out himself. He dropped his head and wept.

At Spinner's End, hours later, Sirius was restless. He looked in on Snape, who was resting peacefully, his knee quiet again after a coat of salve. Calling to Mippy, he had himself Apparated to Feathering, to see if he couldn't help. Viktor was nowhere to be seen, apparently at prayer. Martin, too, had vanished back into his room.

The women were tending the body, shrunken now, even tinier in death. He could hear the priest chanting, and smell incense, foreign and dark. He was preparing to turn back and return to Spinner's End, or else visit Cissy or Trixie, when he heard her voice.

'Sirius?'

'Gennie? Eugenia?'

She looked beautiful to him. He stepped toward her, embracing her, but she backed up, shaking her head. 'We need to talk, Sirius.'

'Is something wrong?'

She turned and led him to an alcove without replying immediately. He sat down, worried in his bones.

'Sirius, Aunt knows.'

'Knows what?'

'That I'm not...I wasn't...about me.'

Sirius started to get up. 'What? We need to tell Snape. He'll-'

'No. No, she's always known. She doesn't care. Rab doesn't care.'

'You've told Rabastan?'

'He implied he's guessed. Neither of them...they asked me who I was, and I told them Eugenia.'

Sirius nodded encouragingly. 'All right, love. What then?'

'I, I don't know. I don't know who or what I am. I need time to figure it out. Time to just...be. Do you understand?'

'No' he said frankly. 'I don't. It doesn't matter who you are. I don't care. If you want be whoever, then-'

'Easy for you to say! You haven't brought a child into this. What about Edric?'

'What about him? Em-Gennie, I really don't get it.'

'I'm sorry, Sirius. I just can't live the lie anymore.'

'Lie? This, of everything in your life, is the biggest lie?'

'Please, try to understand. I like you. I have always liked you, and I treasure the time we spent together. But I can't-I need to learn to be her now. Really be her.'

'We're members of the Order of the Phoenix! Think about what you're saying!'

'The Order. Lot of bloody good they did us, Sirius. They wrote us off the second we weren't of further use to them and you know it. What do I owe them? What do you?'

'It's what's right!'

'I don't know what's right anymore. That's what I need to figure out. Please, Sirius, don't make this harder than it has to be.'

He rose and bowed stiffly. 'Fine. Good evening, Eugenia.'

'Good evening, Sirius.'

Snape was awake when he returned. 'Well, dog, how did it go?'

'She's left me.'

'What? What did you do, you manky git?'

Sirius sank down onto the divan, waving the elf away. 'I don't know.' He repeated the conversation almost word for word. Snape was silent, tense.

'So they've guessed. Where does this leave us, I wonder?'

Sirius couldn't quite make himself care. 'Don't know.'

'Honestly, Black. She didn't say she didn't want to see you again. She said she needs a little time to take inventory. Wouldn't you, if you were she?'

Sirius didn't answer. Snape stood up, clearly preparing for a good rant. Abruptly, the pillock stopped, faced him.

'Well, Black?'

'Please just leave me alone.'

'No. I never have before, and a minor set-back on your part is no reason for me to discontinue a longstanding pattern of mutual hostility and viciousness.'

'Please?'

Snape huffed. 'Pathetic. You are not the only man to have been left, you know.'

'I'm going upstairs now.'

'Like hell you are, Black. If you aren't man enough to face me, then transform and sleep in the shed.'

'Fuck you.'

'Really? That is the very best you could muster? A low 'A' at best, and that's generous.'

Sirius sat back down. 'What do you want, you wanker?'

'I want you to see it from Vance's prospective, and stop sulking. The girl is fifteen and she doesn't do that. Often.'

'Fine. Talk.'

'Her survival now depends on her being Eugenia, in a totally different way. She can never leave this cover, Black, and you know it. She's locked in. She has to find her happiness where she might.'

'Rabastan knows about us! He caught us fucking!'

'Yet another mental image that I must needs expunge from my mind via Old Ogden's finest. Yes, but that was when he thought she was what she claimed to be. Now he has doubts, and he knows of your supposed infiltration of the Order. How long before her husband makes that connexion, do you expect?'

'He wouldn't-'

'Hurt her? No, probably not. But there's the issue the Desmond. He's the one who killed Evan, and both of them arrested the Lestranges after that thing with the Longbottoms.'

'I didn't even think about that.'

'Mmm, your vast mental acuity once again gives me pause. Do you see now?'

'It still hurts.'

'So will the beating I give you if you don't cease the sulking and complaining and find something useful to do.'

'Always so sensitive, Snape.'

'Mippy? What have I not threatened to beat Black with?'

'Err...Mippy doesn't know, Master. A window pole?'

'Excellent. Yes, that will do admirably. Did you hear that, Black?'

'I'm sad, you arse, not hard of hearing.'

'A man might dream. Anyway, I have received some rather choice gossip from Kreacher.'

'Oh, goody. Why, did the manky little bleeder find out something interesting?'

Snape smirked. 'Better than that. You do know Metellus Travers has been playing house with the Skeeter woman?'

'No, I hadn't heard, sitting in on her talks about it or anything.'

'Shut up. You'll never guess who our tame reporter is fucking.'

'Scabior?'

'Close, but no.'

'Kask?'

'She's old enough to be his mother, you pervert.'

'She has nice legs.'

'Ass. And be that as it may, it would seem Skeeter's got a taste for bestiality.'

'She's fucking Pavel?'

'Nightly.'

Sirius pictured stiff, bland, snobby Metellus Travers and started to laugh. Snape didn't join him, the berk never did, but his mouth twisted oddly, and Sirius realised he was trying not to smile.

False-Mulciber was also smiling. He had carefully taken pictures of everything, supposedly for achival purposes, and sent doubles of everything to Sofia with Sirius's slightly demented elf.

Thus far, they had the promised cup, the diary, a large volume of papers, privately printed manuscripts, a set of school robes, and several autographed copies of various memoirs, children's books and biographies written by others. False-Mulciber had read them all and found them dreadful.

An elf showed Alecto in. She flung both arms about him by way of greeting and then, proud as a child, handed over a folio of several drawings, all in pastels and chalk.

'Gorgeous, darling girl' he said in Mulciber's ponderous brogue, because they really were. 'I'm impressed.'

'Thank you, Godfather. His Lordship let me have personal access to His private Pensieve.'

'Did you find it edifying?'

'I did. All His earliest memories at my fingertips. I could only do so many, of course, for time reasons, but eventually I'll do them all.'

'Of course you will.'

He spread them out on the paper. An imposing house, a village green, other such bucolic scenes, interpersed with others. Battles, great debates, his famous public refutation of Lesser Aeolius of Sparta.

He gestured to the house. 'My memory is not what is what, goddaughter.'

'The house, Godfather. The one He grew up in. Little Hangleton, I think is the name of the village.'

'Of course. Forgive an old man his slips.'

'Not at all. Jonas sends his regards.'

'He's making progress? And Metellus?'

'I think so. Drinking too much, probably. If he comes back with something this time...'

'Now, Allie, boys will be boys.'

'I know, I know.'

Little Hangleton, thought False-Mulciber. Little Hangleton.

He sent a note to Snape, and by midnight, a small party was on the way to see what there was to see.


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**It was with great sadness that I learnt this evening that Maurice Sendak, author of one of the most beloved children's books of all times, died today at the age of 83. **

**Of all the many gifts I have been given, by far the greatest is literacy. Mr. Sendak helped inspire countless children to love words, have fun with reading and use their imaginations. **

**This chapter is dedicated to Maurice Sendak, who's off to 'Where the Wild Things Are'**

**Madea, whose eyes are oddly inflamed...**

Rita flitted toward Nicolae, her little wings flapping, and alighted on his finger. He laughed, the sound of it like rolling thunder, and held her up so they were eye to eye. 'Hello, Ree. How did it go?'

She took off and changed, and then put her arms round his neck for a moment. He pressed his head to her chest. They were in his rooms, and they were wonderfully alone.

'It was brilliant! Like something out a book.'

'Oh?' His hand was lazily crawling under her skirts, and she moved toward him, grinning with excitement.

Rita had, in her long years as a reporter, trained herself to record what she saw, rather like a camera. She had done today, and part of her mourned that she could not record this event for posterity, could not write what she'd seen for others who were not as lucky.

The girl and her cousin, a perfect contrast in looks and demeanour, greeting each minister, clasping hands with them as Rumen Krum swore them, bound them to a single cause, and then watched, whiskered face impassive, as each one kissed the girl's ring, acknowledging that she and her husband were the heads of this enterprise.

Rita, in beetle form, had seen it all, and now come back, filled with news, to tell her odd lover the things that had passed. 'And there's...Nicolae! More.'

'More, or **more**?'

'Both! Oh, oh!'

His hands slowed. 'What else, Rita?'

'Oh, you're awful! News from home. Britain, I mean.'

'What is it?'

'The grandmother's dead, and they're refusing to release the body.'

The hand stopped entirely. 'Truly?'

'The God's honest, it is.' She'd adopted a heavier version of the accent she'd worked so hard to shed as a young woman, and he grinned a little bit, but she could see his mind working, his eyes glittering with curiosity.

'On what grounds?'

'They're claiming she died of an infectious disease of some kind, and threatening to have the remains immolated on grounds of public health. There was some sort of incident with that bitch Umbridge.'

'Umbridge?'

'Toad-faced cow, all fur coat and no knickers.'

'How would you know?' His raised a brow interestedly, grinning.

'She gives herself airs. It's an expression.'

'Here I was getting excited.'

'You were before, weren't you?'

'With you here? Always. What do you think will happen?'

Rita settled into his lap, straddling him. 'This could be it, Nicolae.'

'Do you really think so?'

She shook her head, fumbling with his fly, which had a strange metal contraption as opposed to buttons. He let her, mind clearly on the situation in Britain.

'No. Not yet, but he'll have to respond if...oh!'

'If what?'

'If they, ah, do it.'

'Do you think the Dark Lord will risk that?'

She shook her head, hands busy, and then giggled as the thing finally yielded. 'Not! Yet!' Then they were past speech.

After, the two of them laid on his bed and talked politics. It sort of surprised Rita how much he knew about Britain's internal issues. It pleased her, because it showed that he was quite as observant as she, but still.

'So Travers will inherit Bellatrix's role, you think?'

Rita considered, stretching lazily. She was sore in the best way. Nicolae reached up and lightly cupped a breast, rubbing her nipple with his thumb. It hardened under his touch at once.

'No. He thinks so, but he hasn't got the force of personality she has.'

'Or propaganda value.'

'Quite. I've been hearing a lot about Mulciber.'

'He's old, isn't he?'

'In his seventies. But he's an excellent wizard, which Metellus isn't.'

'The Imperius expert. Or one of them, right? There were two?'

'He had a nephew who died in the first war.'

'Ah. You think Mulciber is behind this thing with the grandmother?'

She shook her head at once. 'Walden Mcnair. He's vindictive.'

'You've dealt with him?'

'Not personally, aside from once or twice. Metellus has. Says he's a real ass.'

'The rook calls the raven black, but both of them caw.'

She laughed and rested against him. 'Is that a saying?'

'I was feeling poetic today.'

'He supposedly tried to get Lestrange to marry the girl to his son. Lestrange refused.'

'Wetherell Mcnair's much older.'

'And has...tastes.'

'Tastes?'

She dropped her head and whispered. Nicolae's head came up. 'My God, really?'

'That's what my source says.' She hoped she hadn't offended him.

Nicolae stroked her hair lightly. 'It's all right, Rita. I'm just...that's repulsive.'

'I believe it.'

'So do I. Was there news of Greyback?'

'None. Speak to Krum about it. I daresay he'll listen.'

'That might be a good way to blood the troops, once things are ready. The new ones, I mean.'

She touched his face lightly. 'You're eager for this?'

'This is our time, Ree. Europe is changing, and we can change with it. Britain is just the first step.'

'First step to what?'

Nicolae kissed her hard, lips on hers with bruising force. 'To being people and not beasts.'

Rita thought of everything she'd ever heard about werewolves and then compared it to Nicolae, who was smart and generous and fanatically devoted to his cause. It made her want him more, his streak of obsession, his determination, his ruthlessness in making a better world for people like himself.

'You know' he said in her ear 'werewolves are said to be more virile than normal men.'

'Are they?'

'You tell me.'

Kreacher had a great many opinions, but none about that issue, at least. He was drifting invisibly behind Master Sirius, muttering direfully to no one particularly, and keeping an eye out for any suspicious or odd phenomena which might suggest the presence of Dark magic.

Master Sirius's animagus form, the filthy dog, loped ahead, nose to the ground. Every so often, his tail would come up, and he'd grumble, leading Kreacher off into brambles or copses of trees only to trot back to the main road.

A pack of mangy looking dogs approached, and Master Sirius made a polite little doggy bow, tail wagging. One of the dogs, a big buff coloured male, stepped forward, growling. Master Sirius growled back, hackles rising, and the dog snarled. It was a short fight, and at the end of it, Master Sirius stood over the other dog, teeth still bared.

The big dog slowly got up after Master Sirius stepped off, and the dogs fell into a loose pack, and led the interlopers into a field, through bracken and undergrowth, across a small stream. Kreacher could feel the air changing.

A palpable menace, a smell of rot and dust, a greyness that palled the very air like dust. The dogs were whining; one by one they fell back, whimpering, until only Master Sirius and the big male were left. The male sat down at the edge of a clearing and barked once or twice. Master Sirius sat head cocked, sometimes chuffing or grumbling, and then changed back.

The dogs whined, some of them creeping closer on their bellies to investigate this wonder. Master Sirius let them sniff him thoroughly before he rose.

'It's about a kilometre that way, next to a scrubby pine.'

'The dogs are not coming?'

'They won't get any closer.'

Master Sirius opted against changing back, and the two crept through the woods, careful to make little noise. The heaviness in the air was becoming terrible,

The shack was roughly set on the edge of a road, as though dropped there and forgot about. The darkness emanated from it in thick waves, sickening and brightly malevolent.

'That's it.'

Kreacher started forward and then stopped when Master Sirius made to join him.

'Kreacher will go alone.'

'No, Kreacher.'

'Master Sirius waits here for Kreacher.'

'I have to go with you. Have to.'

'Won't.'

'Kreacher, don't be a berk.'

'Master Sirius shouldn't be rude to Kreacher.'

Master Sirius reached up and touched his arm. 'I know you want to protect me, Kreacher, but I was trained for this.'

'Kreacher doesn't want Master Sirius to go. Kreacher's lost everyone else.'

'We'll go together, and if things look bad, I'll leave, all right?'

It most certainly was not all right, but Kreacher knew when he was beaten. He nodded reluctantly and flicked a finger at the door, which shrieked as it opened. Only one hinge worked, giving the door a sinisterly crooked look. The inside reeked of dust and unwholesomeness. Something in it throbbed like a great rotten heart, vital and obscene.

The floor was crude wooden planking, gone to splinters and dust now. No animals stirred, no bats screeched from the rafters. This was a shunned place, sensed Kreacher, and wished he could drag Master Sirius out, make him go far away from this shack and the uncleanness inside it.

Master Sirius picked his way carefully over the warped boards until he reached a wall. 'Here. Do you feel it?'

Kreacher did. He reached his long, thin fingers under a nearly imperceptible ledge and flipped upward as hard as he could. The lid flew off, and after the shower of dust had cleared, they looked inside.

A box, a small tin box. There was no rust on it, no dirt. Kreacher didn't want to touch it. He could feel the thing inside it, pulsing vilely. Master Sirius reached down and Kreacher latched onto his hand.

'Master Sirius, no!'

'Oh God, God! I hear it in my mind!'

Master Sirius clapped his hands over his ears, rocking. Kreacher would hear it too, a sibilant whispering that was more perceived than felt. It was foul, unbearable.

Kreacher levitated the box out, careful never to let it touch his skin, or worse, Master Sirius's. The thing inside it was murmuring, the sound rising as the box was moved. Kreacher thought he could feel it coming from all round them, the walls themselves protesting the invasion. He grabbed Master Sirius and, box in tow, Apparated them.

Master Snape was waiting for them in a smock and goggles, dragon hide gloves covering the skin of his hands. Kreacher carefully levitated the box into them, wishing Master Snape would let him do it, or else Mippy.

Master Sirius had come back to himself enough to be interested in what was going on. He moved a little closer as Master Snape prized the lid off the box. The ring was inside, sitting on a bed of cotton batting. Master Sirius moved closer still.

'Where are the wards?'

'The ring itself must be cursed. Don't touch it.'

'No, of course not.'

Mippy brought Master Sirius protective garments, and Kreacher was obliged to let the other elf help him on with everything as he watched. The ring's whisperings were louder now, and sweeter, so sweet they hurt. He wanted, Kreacher realised, to touch the ring, to slip it on...

'Do you feel it, Snape?'

'No, you fool, I am utterly insensible to the powerful charms he's put on it.'

'Arse.'

'Kreacher, it would be safer if no pictures were taken. Will you remember what it looks like?'

Kreacher nodded and used his magic to raise the ring from the box. The setting was two sinuous, writhing snakes, supporting a small stone, grey, triangular. It looked a bit like smoky quartz, or a very impure diamond.

'Have you got it, Kreacher?'

'Kreacher has it.'

'We should return it until we've got the duplicate.'

Kreacher moved the ring back into the box. 'Kreacher will do that.' He wouldn't have his humans touching this tainted, evil thing, even if that meant he had to do it himself.

When he came back, Master Sirius and Master Snape were waiting downstairs for him. 'That's four, assuming the cup is one. Any thoughts, dog? Some grand insight, perhaps?'

'The portraits. I still think Phineas might have some ideas.'

Master Snape nodded. 'I will set Madam Feathering to it, perhaps.'

'Or Uncle Cygnus. He wants to help.'

Master Snape nodded. 'True. He could ask much less conspicuously.'

'No one would question Trixie or Cissy for wanting to visit the family tombs.'

Master Snape leant back in his chair. 'I might pound a little Slytherin cunning into your head yet, Black.'

'Piss off.'

'How droll. Once we've found the pattern, the problem will be destroying them.'

Master Sirius ran his hand through his hair like he did when he was agitated. 'I don't suppose Kingsley would know?'

'It was in those destroyed books. Nicely done, that.'

'I didn't do it!'

'It was your people.'

'The Blacks? Hardly.'

'Aurors.'

'I was only a trainee.'

'Close enough for me.'

Master Sirius was clearly uncomfortable. He'd never been able to hide it from Kreacher, and now was no exception.

'Snape?'

'Black?'

'We need to defeat the Dark Lord. What's the best way to do that?'

'This was your grand idea, you fool?'

'I was leading into something! You always find a way to ruin the atmosphere.'

'Cry me a bloody river. Was he always this annoying, Kreacher?'

Kreacher smiled a little. 'Master Sirius is always being stubborn. I remember-'

'Not another word, you manky little berk.'

'Master Sirius!'

'Do you two want to hear my idea, or not?'

'Don't keep us in suspense, Black, by all means.'

'To defeat the Dark Lord, we'll need another Dark Lord.'

'Oh, well those are a dozen a sickle, aren't they?'

'Not here. Viktor's got one.'

Snape went very still. 'What are you on about?'

'Grindelwald is in Nurmengard. If anyone knows, it will be him.'

'You do know Grindelwald burnt the first Viktor Krum alive, don't you, dog?'

'Do you have some other idea, Snape?'

'You get to sell this to the boy.'

Master Sirius nodded. 'It's my natural charisma and boundless optimism that will do it.'

'I hope he hexes you.'

'Thank you for your vote of confidence, Snape.'

'Any time, Black.'

Kreacher shook his head and then glowered at his humans, glad that Master Sirius had someone like Master Snape to depend on.

In another part of Britain, Nagini was not happy at all. She slithered through the forest, a hare hanging limp from her mouth, careful not to clamp down lest her fang puncture the flesh and envenom the meat.

She made her way through the moon lit gardens and up the small hill to the house, in through the door kept open for her. She found an elf and dropped the hare for it to clean and hang until it was suitable for human consumption.

Her humans were in the fire-room, sitting glumly. There was a small blaze in the fire-pit, and dozens of little snakes warmed themselves round it, rolling to toast their bellies or heat a flank grown chill in the small, dusty, drafty room.

/nagini brought meat hare fresh meat/

/good good nagini/

Hetty-Speaker looked like she lacked warmth, eyes smelling hot and swollen. Viktor-young looked worse. He smelt hot and dangerous, a predator-smell. She came closer to observe the smell in more depth, sniffing curiously.

'Hello, Nagini.'

She nuzzled him, smelling intently. His skin was an atlas to her, a quilt of smells, tastes and textures. She darted her tongue across his hand, feeling roughness and tasting broom grease, pine needles, the sun, food. The skin of another, the female Hermione-young. Other young people, including Nagini's Edric-young, and the people those people had touched. Dogs, tea, a warm bed, eye-water and rain.

He put a rough hand on her head, right on her skull-crest. 'Everyvon miss you at home, Nagini.'

/nagini misses her young young comes home soon comes home now/

/not yet/ said Hetty-Speaker, caressing her neck /lots of suns first/

/nagini thinks no suns is better/

Hetty-Speaker kept stroking. /we are working, nagini, hetty promises/

/viktor-young needs something he has too much heat viktor-young has too much heat because Elisaveta-elder shed her skin/

/umbridge came and made gave us predator-feelings/

/nagini offered to bite umbridge will still bite umbridge/

/when the sun is right/

/viktor-young still does not want nagini to eat elisaveta-elder/

/viktor would rather nagini not/

Nagini considered the keeping of a dead skin about to be quite morbid and unhealthy, but Hetty-Speaker had explained about Master and his trick with taking poor Elisaveta-elder's old skin.

/nagini is here if viktor-young changes his instinct/

/viktor knows nagini good good/

Nagini wasn't satisfied with this. She leant over, still sniffing, checking them both. She made it a practice to smell the humans very carefully every day, making sure that no odd or alarming smells had invaded during the night. She'd smelt the Bad Thing inside Elisaveta-elder when it had become too much to ignore, and so had the other snakes, who'd tried to keep her warm as she'd shed her skin and moved upward.

Hetty-Speaker's little one stirred slightly. Nagini moved closer, hissing calmingly, curious and delighted. Human young didn't come in eggs, she'd been told, and now she believed it, even if the mechanics of a thing like that baffled and disturbed her.

/little speaker is moving hetty-speaker/

/hetty doesn't feel it/

/yet/

There were some of those disconcerting pops, and then more of the brood had come. Nagini went to sniff them as well, checking them all over, greeting the little adder who had taken to Narcissa-human. He slithered down and the others came to him, pleased, as he had a reputation as something of a raconteur, and had been regaling them with stories of living with humans up close.

'Desmond?'

'He isn't back yet. Snape?'

'Coming with Sirius. They've got a plan, apparently.' Lucius-human smelt like he had aged since his young had left. He came to sit next to Viktor-young, patting him with an upper appendage. Viktor-young sighed, leaning against him a moment.

'Vhat sort of plan, Uncle, did they say?'

'Not yet. If Severus has a plan, I venture it's a good one.'

'I think so as vell.'

The others came to pat him and make sad-words. Nagini appreciated the impulse, but found it slightly silly. If they wished to recover Elisaveta-elder's old skin, could they not challenge the Master? Most of the males were larger.

/hetty-speaker/

/nagini/

/lucius-human is very tall for a human is that so/

/it is so/

/why does lucius-human not merely eat master/

/eat him/

/then he will be master and the skin will be returned to the brood/

/humans do not eat their own kind/

/have you mentioned it/

/hetty will mention it indeed/

Snape-human and Sirius-human-who-was-also-the-dog-Salazar came. Nagini liked both men, and the dog-form as well. They carried something intangible with them, something that spoke of predators and dark. Nagini hissed, getting between it and Hetty-Speaker, prepared to strike whatever it was.

/tell snape-human he brings to it nagini then nagini kills it it is very bad very bad/

/snape-human is master of it it is far away/

/no creature is master of it not far enough/

Viktor-young had tensed. 'Aunt Hetty, may I help you to your vrooms now? Aunt Cunegarde?'

'No, darling, it's all right. Thank you, though.'

'Not on your life, boy.'

Cunegarde-humans eyes were gleaming interestedly. Nagini could sense another predator in her, and liked it. These females, she felt, were suitably fierce, like herself. They would help her kill whatever it was when the moment came.

'We've found the ring. It's hidden in a sort of shack in Little Hangleton.'

'You've left it there?'

Bellatrix-human hissed, and Snape-human hissed straight back. Nagini sometimes wondered why they had not mated, as their young would be strong and dangerous in instinct, though puny in size. Hetty-Speaker said most humans had only one mate at a time, which Nagini found absurd. She'd kept it to herself on that point, though-one movement at a time.

'Until we can have the proxy made, Bellatrix. What would you have done instead?'

'Arse.'

'So we've got, what, four?'

'Assuming the cup is one.'

'Who has the cup?'

'According to my sources, Walden Mcnair. He's supposed to surrender it Monday.'

Snape spoke at some length, and used many words that Nagini didn't know. She stayed hunkered by Hetty-Speaker, determined to protect her against whatever this thing was.

The important part was that Hetty-Speaker, and therefore Nagini, had a job to do. They would go to Hogwarts, the cave where Master lived with many-many young, and talk to mist-humans and moving-paint-humans, and then find the answer. Nagini's tail twitched, pleased by having something serious and important to do.

'So then what, Snape? We figure out the others and...what, precisely?'

Snape-human smelt nervous. A very little bit, but Nagini could tell it from the lines of his body, and the sour acidic sweat and stomach acid.

'We'll need to find someone with expertise in these matters and then figure out how to destroy them.'

'Oh, that should be a doddle, shouldn't it?'

'We've an idea about that. It mightn't be popular.'

Sirius-human stood up. 'Walk with me, kiddo?'

Viktor-young stood up and the two males went out onto the balcony. Snape-human sat down just as an elf brought Desmond-human into the room.

'Well, that was tedious.'

'What happened, Desmond?'

'Seven hours of listening to commentary on his autobiography.'

'Did you learn anything?'

Desmond-human flashed his teeth. 'As it so happens, I did.'

Nagini laid down and listened, hoping she could be of use and bring her young back home to her.


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Spring is here, and Newt has taken up her post at the windows, making bedroom eyes at the various Disney-esque wildlife currently frolicking through out yard. She'd like to make it clear that I am the worst cat-Mum ever because I refuse to let her go on a somewhat-less-heartwarming killing spree in their midst.**

Hermione had known something was wrong as soon as she saw Paavo, crossing the courtyard at a hard clip, boot clicking as he bulled toward her, stick rapping a counterpoint, face taut with rage, and then swished a bubble round both of them.

'That cowardly son of a bitch in Britain has gone too far!'

'Paavo?'

He inhaled deeply. 'Sorry, Hermione. What I mean is, the Lord Paramount wants to see you in the office as soon as possible.'

She rose, giving her sewing to Kreacher, and gently handed Zenobia, who'd been dozing on her lap, to Barty. Paavo still looked angry enough to spit ink, so she had Niska take them both directly to Uncle.

'Hermione, Elisaveta has died.'

'I'm sorry, Uncle.'

'So am I. The Dark Lord has seized the body. He's claiming she died of...spattergroit, is that correct?'

Hermione sat down, head swimming a little. 'Oh, no. How is Viktor doing?'

The office was filling. Draco and Vaike, Anu, Enver. Uncle Penko relayed what had happened, the whole scene with the Umbridge woman and the aurors. Hermione found herself clutching her handkerchief, sickened and angry at what she was hearing.

'So what do we do now?'

Uncle Penko touched her shoulder. 'What do you think we should do?'

Hermione touched her ring. I am Vicereine, she reminded herself. She pictured what Aunt Cunegarde would say if she quailed now and made herself sound upbeat.

'Firstly, the ministers must not hear of this. Secondly, Uncle, have we heard from Viktor?'

'Not directly.'

'We'll need to get in touch with him as quickly as possible. We can't respond with force, yet, but we do need to respond. Paavo?'

'Vicereine?'

'Have Arco call up the wolves. We might have need of them. Drago?'

'Cousin?'

'Go to Castle Krum and brief Uncle Rumen, and then bring him here immediately. We'll need to draft a formal petition.'

They scattered, and Hermione felt the beginnings of a tremendous headache behind her eyes. She sent Niska for headache powders just as Uncle Rumen stepped throught the Floo.

'What would you have me do, niece?'

'Draft the petition. Who's the best forger we have?'

Arco spoke from the corner. 'That would be Galca, my lady.'

'Bring him here, please. We'll need him before the night is out.'

Uncle Rumen drafted the petition in a single go, and Galca, who smelt faintly of slivov and fresh mint, bent over the paper, studied the example and calmly signed Viktor's name to it. Hermione poured the wax and stamped it, then added her own signature and seals. 'Send it right now, please.'

Uncle Penko had gone to the British Embassy and returned. 'Viktor's at Feathering. Snape is trying to get them to send her home to us as a gesture of good will. It's touch and go right now.'

Hermione nodded. 'Does he want us to wait, then?'

'For right now. We can't invade, we haven't got the army ready yet.'

'I know, but we also can't do nothing. It would look weak.'

'The petition is a start, darling, isn't it?'

Uncle Penko licked his lips, smiling a little uncertainly. Hermione abruptly realised that he was afraid she'd overrule him and order the invasion anyhow. She reached up on her toes to kiss his forehead.

'Then we shan't invade. We're a team, Uncle, all of us.'

He relaxed visibly. 'Of course we are. They'll want to speak to you at some point. Are you up for it?'

Hermione smiled a little. 'I'm looking forward to it.'

She wasn't the only one. She asked Luan Ismaili, whom Paavo said was good at that sort of thing, to fact check some things for her, and then waited. Uncle Penko suggested she take a retinue with her, so when Mcnair's head poked from the fireplace a couple of hours later, Hermione was flanked by a grim-faced Anu and the scowling Paavo, the others in closed ranks behind.

'Vicereine, how good to see you again. It has been some time, has it not?'

'Several years, Mr. Mcnair. I wish I could say the same of yourself.'

'A most regrettable situation, to be sure. The Dark Lord sends His deepest condolences on the loss of your grandmother in law.'

'We appreciate it. My uncle seems to believes that Britain is refusing to release Grandmama's remains. Is that true, Mr. Mcnair?'

'Lamentably, yes. It would seem madam died from spattergroit.'

'Madam Umbridge-your own secretary, sir-seemed to think it was terminal stomach cancer.'

'A mistake. The healer in question has been reprimanded severely. In light of that understandable, if unfortunate, error, surely your ladyship sees-'

'It's my understanding that the symptoms of spattergroit are not at all like cancer. Did she have the tell-tale spots? The unusual swellings of the joints?'

'She did.'

'We received no report that indicated an error had been made until after she'd died. Why was that?'

Mcnair had evidentially expected an easier time of it, because he frowned ponderously. 'One would almost think you disbelieved us, Vicereine.'

'Not at all. I just find it strange that the last recorded case of spattergroit was in 1972. In Uruguay. The last recorded British case was in 1803, after the witch in question ate some grapes from a hot region. Isn't that right, Mr. Mcnair?'

Mcnair's frown deepened. 'Vicereine, I'm sure I don't know what you're driving at.'

'When the Lord Protector and myself surrendered Grandmama and Father Krum to his lordship's custody, it was our understanding that they would be cared for. We are rather perturbed by this to say the very least.'

'Where is the Lord Protector?'

'He is engaged in the funerary rites traditional to our people.'

'He does not share your concerns?'

'He certainly does.'

'Yet he did not put his grief on hold to speak to me himself?'

'Watch your tone, Englishman, this is the Vicereine of Bulgaria you're addressing.' Paavo, who was very nearly vibrating with energy and anger.

'Thank you, Paavo. If you wish to see the Lord Protector, when his part in the rites have ended, I will send for him. Until then, you will deal with me.'

'Surely you would rather I discuss it with Minister Krum?'

'Indeed, sir, I would not.'

'You are a young lady, Vicereine, and perhaps not as tutored in the art of-'

'Enough. My lord will contact you in his own time, but until that moment comes, you would do well to remember your manners. Sever the connexion, please.'

Mcnair's head abruptly vanished as Vata did it. Hermione kept a straight face until she was sure he was gone and then started to giggle. The others joined in, laughing until the tension was dispelled.

'Well, that was wretched.'

Ismaili shook his head at once. 'No, it was good. It's a start.'

'You think he got the message?'

Paavo snorted. 'He was about to sh-I mean, looked ready to cry. So what's next?'

Hermione accepted his hand up. 'We Polyjuice someone for part two. Where is Drago?'

'Soothing the ministers.'

'Who'd like to be Viktor, then?'

Everyone laughed when Anu raised his hand. Hermione stopped, cocking her head thoughtfully. 'Anu?'

'Not me. I mean, I will if you'd like, but maybe Pavel.'

'Good idea. We'll figure something out.' She smiled a little, thinking about it, and went to get the next part started.

Sirius Black was thinking just the same. He patted the kid's shoulder. 'Course I'll come. As Salazar, right?'

'Vright. He does not know, I think.'

Sirius changed and gently butted Viktor's leg with his head. Kreacher had been following him about too, and fell in with them. Sirius looked up at the little numpty and felt a strange rush of affection and relief. Even if he had to go soon, Kreacher would be there to make sure the kid had someone to talk to.

Not that Sirius was worried. For all Lucius had sticks lodged in various orifices, he had gone out of his way to make sure Viktor was all right, and the others had been very little behind. This whole thing had bonded them as a family, perhaps the only good to come out of this mess.

Martin's rooms were dark. Sirius could smell incense, and hear a low, monotonous chanting, which was apparently how Bulgarians mourned their dead. He found it sort of eerie, honestly, but he supposed the offerings he'd rather abashedly made might seem just as weird, so it was all to the good.

Viktor knocked and they were bidden inside. The priest was there, leading Martin in more chanting. Viktor knelt down and took it up as well, and for a quarter of an hour, that was what they did.

The priest ended things and withdrew discretely. Sirius saw Viktor swish a subtle translation charm and then the men rose. 'Papa?'

'Hello, Viktor.'

'We need to talk, Papa.'

'About your grandmother? That would be good.'

'She's at peace now.'

'Yes. Yes, of course. She loved you very much.'

'And I her, Papa. We're in a bad way. Bulgaria.'

'Is the treasury empty?'

'No, thank God. No, we're doing well financially. Well, not badly, anyway.'

Martin was clear-eyed, more alert than Sirius had seen him in years. He felt a small flicker of hope, and then immediately regretted it. What was the kid going through? Hope could sustain, but it could destroy as quickly.

Viktor nodded to Kreacher, who brought wine for them both. 'Papa? Bulgaria has united Europe.'

'Europe?'

'Yes. We want to make the Dementors can't attack anyone else. Bulgaria is head of that project.'

'You are?'

'Hermione and the uncles and me.'

'What are you, Viktor?'

Viktor shook his head. 'I wish I knew.'

'Are you a tsar now?'

'I don't know, Papa.'

Martin nodded slowly. 'It will all work out.'

'I hope so.'

'What will you do now?'

'That's what I wanted to ask you about. It looks like the best choice might be...well, we might need to fight fire with fire.'

'How so, Viktor?'

Martin leant forward, eyes focused and aware. Sirius gently nudged Viktor's leg, knowing that if it hurt him this much, it had to be agony for the kid. Viktor smoothed his ruff gently.

'We need someone versed in Dark magic, Papa. Serious Dark magic.'

'**Viktor**. You know better than that.'

'I know. But it's the only way to stop the Dementors.'

'Where will you get this Dark wizard, Viktor?'

'Nurmegard.'

'Nurmengard?'

'We need Grindelwald.'

Martin didn't move. His eyes widened. His mouth finally opened but nothing came out.

'He's the only one that has the knowledge we need to fight this.'

'Viktor...'

'Papa, I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you because...it's...'

'What is this thing that threatens us, Viktor? Not just Dementors, surely.'

'I don't want to endanger you by saying.'

Martin touched his son's arm with terrible, trembling gentleness. Sirius nudged harder, heart breaking for the kid, and maybe, a little, for Martin as well. He wanted to shake the man, shout at him, and then tell him that he understood.

Except that he didn't. He missed James and Lily every second of every day, and hoped with his whole being that Harry might be alive somewhere. But he'd chosen to move forward and Martin had not, had encased himself in his own internal Azkaban and then calmly waited to die.

Sirius had meant what he said to Draco-he loved the kids. He considered helping them an honour. But watching this play out sickened him, and made him ache for Viktor, who had to be in agony right now. So he nudged, and stayed by his leg.

Kreacher was disquieted too. He was sort of hovering between the two men, glaring, muttering. He caught Sirius's eye and made a face, showing how he felt about things. Sirius could smell his disquiet, and grumbled as softly as he could, trying to reassure his meddlesome, semi-mad old nanny that nothing was wrong.

'I'm your father. If something is bothering you, I would like to know about it.'

Viktor's eyes were bright. 'Something so terrible has happened that only something equally terrible can correct it. It's up to us to stop it, and he might be the only person on earth who can end this thing.'

'This is a slippery slope, Viktor.'

'I know. But if we don't stop it, it will never end. Hermione says it's like the sword of Damocles.'

'What do you think?'

'She's right. She usually is.'

'Give me your word, Viktor, that you will never be alone with him.'

'I promise.'

Martin nodded. His eyes had the drifting look again. 'Good. Good. I know you'll do the right thing. You know, when you were small...'

'Yes, Papa?'

'I don't recall.'

His shoulders slumped. Viktor leant slowly toward his father and touched his hand. Sirius could smell a subtle change; not forgiveness, but a start. He chuffed, to show how proud he was, and caught Kreacher's eye. The elf sighed silently with relief, and Sirius joined him, feeling a bit better about things.

Vaike felt the same way. She was sitting with Drago, hand in hand under a tree. A hundred metres away, the small building that served as the bag factory was working full force. They'd upped their productivity to two thousand a day to kit out their army. Vaike was tired but delighted with things, and leant against Drago, closing her eyes with a sigh.

'Tired?'

'Mmm hmm. Aren't you?'

'Yes.' He had started to rub lightly at his left arm, and she reached up and took his hand.

'You'll infect it.'

'Has Tamm got to you as well? Remind me to beat him later.'

'He's shaking and so am I.'

He snorted, rested his head on hers. 'Estonia, soon.'

'Can't wait. Ema wants everyone to come and visit, too. She wants to know you.'

'I'd like to know her, too. Vaike?'

'Drago?'

'Are you going to help us train the army?'

'Of course I am. Why?'

He sighed. 'I worry, I suppose.'

'Don't you even start. Paavo's tried the same thing on me.'

'And got nowhere?'

'That's right.'

'I rather thought so, but I had to try.'

'No one tries with Hermione.'

'We did for years. I once punched Viktor over it.'

'What? You didn't either.'

He snorted. 'I did. The house was on fire, and we went back inside to get Barty and Aunt Cunegarde...'

It was quite a good story. Vaike listened, amused and slightly startled by the whole thing. 'There was an attack a few days earlier, and the Dark Lord insisted on a ball at the Ministry anyhow?'

Drago nodded wearily. 'Oh, yes. Aunt Trixie tried to talk him out of it, I think, and he waved her away.'

'That's ridiculous.'

'I know.'

'I can't imagine...' she trailed off, not wanting to disrespect her future in-laws by voicing how stupid she found this whole thing. Who thought this lunatic was good to follow?

'No, it's all right. I don't get it either. Our life before, Vaike, it was good.'

'It's not...we have one another.'

'Yes, of course. I didn't mean it like that. But I wish you could have seen things.'

She cupped his face. 'It'll be better once things have calmed down.'

'They'll never calm down.'

'I know. I thought it might cheer you up. Did it work?'

He smiled a little. 'I told them that. Hermione and Viktor. It will never be like it was, Vaike.'

'No. We can make it better.'

'Do you think so?'

Vaike squared her shoulders. 'I do. I can think that for both of us, if I need to.'

'That might help, love.'

'Then that's what I'll do.'

She went with him to the Embassy. She could sense the tension in the air, like a storm brewing. Everyone had come, and the group mulled from one place to another. Paavo waved to them, and came to check in, leaning on his stick.

'Pavel's Polyjuiced himself.'

She nodded, and gently pulled away from Drago (who couldn't be seen, of course) in order to take up her place beside her twin as the connexion flared to life. Pavel was kneeling beside Hermione, wearing Viktor Krum's form.

'Mr. Mcnair?'

Mcnair appeared. 'Lord Protector, Vicereine. How good to hear from you again.'

'Likewise yourself, Mr. Mcnair. My wife seems to believe there was some confusion earlier.'

'Quite, quite. The Dark Lord regrets these measures are necessary.'

'As do we.' Pavel-Viktor stretched, neck popping. 'Of course, the Vicereine and I speak with a single voice. My lady, would you care to continue the conversation from earlier?'

'I would, my lord, thank you. Mr. Mcnair, it seems rather silly for us to debate this matter in such an unfriendly manner.'

'I quite agree, Vicereine.'

'We could just as easily discuss these matters in person'

Mcnair tensed. 'Sorry?'

'We've decided some troop exercises are in order. Keeping the wolves sharp, if you will.'

'My lady?'

'We could meet near the border. We'll be in the neighbourhood, anyway, after all.'

'That is hardly le-'

'Are you sure? According to our treaty-the ones the British did not see fit to honour-Bulgaria is entitled to usage of common air space whenever we like. We will, of course, keep to our own side of the border.'

'International law stipulates-'

'The Dark Lord waived those rights in return for an eight percent partnership in a deal brokered by my father in law in regards to a unicorn hair concern in the Balkans. I'm quite sure it's in the treaty. Would you like to see our copy?'

Mcnair's mouth went like a fish. 'I would, er, need to consult the Dark Lord, of course, but it would seem to me-rather that we ought to...'

'Ought to what?'

'I will contact His Lordship and see if we couldn't come to a mutually agreeable resolution.'

'Thank you, Mr. Mcnair.' She smiled sweetly as Mcnair broke their connexion. Pavel-Viktor helped her up. Paavo spoke from next to the mantel.

'I don't think we need to worry about his getting it any more.'

The approval came later that evening from Estonia and Albania both. They'd expected it, but it was nice all the same. Vaike was deputed to tell Aunt Sose. She more or less lived at Castle Borev, but she still worried a little when she dealt with the fragile older woman, who reacted more or less like she'd expected she would.

'Oh. Is Anu...?'

'He's staying here. We'd have asked you first.'

'Be careful. All of you. Don't get hurt.'

'We won't. Will you be all right?'

'You know...it happened to me too.'

Vaike's throat had a knot in it. 'Yes.'

'It's been...I'm glad for you. That you're going, not that...good girl.'

'If you wanted us to...'

Aunt Sose shook her head immediately. 'No. No, it's...' she smiled a little bit, of all things. 'He knows how I feel.'

Vaike rather wanted to ask. She started to, but then, seeing the gleam of pride in the woman's eyes, didn't. Perhaps some things are simply past words. They sat together and contemplated vengeance past and future.


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Today is Mother's Day in the US. For those of us who have lost our mothers, or whose mothers might have been abusive, inadequate or absent due to mental illness, addiction or other causes, this can be a very painful time.**

**Though I have never known the opposite, the unimaginable pain of losing a child, this chapter deals with that in some depth. For those that have, please know that the thoughts of many are with you, and hope you find comfort and peace today.**

**It has been five years this month since I lost my own mother. I am deeply, deeply fortunate that so many other people have been there for me. My father, my paternal grandparents, especially my grandmother, my stepmother, a professor that helped me through the worst of my grief and confusion.**

**So to them, and to everyone for whom this day is challenging, this chapter is dedicated with love and the hope that your trials be eased.**

Narcissa touched the tiny, fragile bones, running her fingers gently over the curve of the skull, tears in her eyes. Beside her, Bellatrix was respectfully silent, trying to support her little sister as best she could.

The terrible ache of it, she thought, wishing she could give Cissy what she'd lost. Both of them had lost a daughter, but Hermione lived and thrived, if far from them, if married, if different than she might have been. Narcissa didn't have that-her daughter had been shielded from the horrors of the last years by death before she had even properly lived.

'Drusilla. We called her for Grandmama. She was so small. Perfectly formed but so small.'

Bellatrix came a little closer, still saying nothing. Narcissa set the tiny skull back in the box, reverently, and put the lid back on it.

'They showed her to me and I knew, then, she wouldn't live. She was blue. Her lips were blue, and her nails. She had all of them-those tiny, perfect little fingers. She was cold to the touch.'

'Cissy, I-I'm so sorry.'

'You know, I envy you Hermione. It's unworthy, but she's so...it hurts, still. I miss her every single day. Drusilla. Do you...'

'I do.'

'We're lucky to have her. Have all of them, I mean, but...we might have had two. Two girls.'

'We do have two, Cissy.'

'I feel her with us. At night, usually. I feel her little hands.'

Bellatrix touched her sister's arm. So much **pain** in things. The weight of it was crushing her. She imagined a little niece who should have grown up with Hermione and Draco, who should have been there with them now. She would have been seven, had she lived.

'When we were fighting in December, I told Lucius...thank God she was spared that. I have never liked the...you know...but the day I truly hated him was the day I woke up and realised I was glad my daughter had died. Because otherwise he'd have sold her like he did Hermione, or used her as he is my son.'

Bellatrix embraced her, fiercely determined to help. 'Cissy, Cissy.'

'It's true. Do you have any idea what it's like to be grateful your child is dead, Bellatrix?'

'I don't. Cissy, I'm sorry.'

'It's nothing you did.'

Bellatrix shook her head. 'I should have protected you all. You told me not to join.'

'I was eleven, Trixie. I wanted you to stay home with me, remember? I had a tantrum when you got engaged.'

Bellatrix was still holding on to her. 'Hush. I know what I did.'

Narcissa touched the box a final time. 'It's incredibly generous of Desmond to do this.'

'He's a good fellow. And you know, I've always...Hermione is both of ours, really.'

Narcissa cupped her cheek a second. 'Thank you, Trixie. It means the world to me. It does.'

They stepped back and looked to the other boxes. Each one was carefully labelled with names and dates. Drusilla's was the newest, and the oldest, the same Jehan L'Estrange who had founded her husband's line in England in the 1060s. There were dozens of boxes, boxes everywhere. At Narcissa's nod, an elf came and started to shrink them down, until the boxes were the size of the postage stamps

The boxes went inside a crate of hollowed out books, and those, also shrunk, went into the carriage in the midst of a stack of other crates. Bellatrix couldn't help but smile. 'Good thing he gave Desmond all those copies of his book, isn't it?'

'It's the only use those books will ever see.'

They both smiled a little bit, too wrung out emotionally to laugh, and then went to find the others.

Desmond was sitting with Hetty and the snake, his hand to her belly. She was smiling tremulously, face swollen, the tip of her nose red.

'...just a little while longer.'

'I know, Des. I do.'

'And Nagini will take care of you.'

'I know. It's hard, is all.'

He kissed the side of her head, a trifle awkwardly. Bellatrix wondered for a second and then pushed it away; as long as Hetty wasn't being mistreated, it was their business, as she saw it.

'Are we interrupting?'

'Of course not. Come and sit down.' Hetty smiled brightly, wiping her eyes with her hands like a child. Narcissa handed over her handkerchief with a lift of her brow that Bellatrix had seen before.

'Desmond, thank you. We appreciate your help in this.'

He waved them off. 'Welcome. You're all sure you'll be all right, now?'

'We are.' Narcissa patted his hand warmly, smiling. He smiled back, seeming a touch uncomfortable with that, too. Was he just a very shy person? Perhaps uneasy round women? Even his own wife?

Well, no matter. She liked him, and he was a very good wizard. That was enough for Bellatrix, at any rate. Narcissa's friendly little adder poked his head from the top of her dress and hissed a greeting.

Desmond nodded as he would to anyone else. 'Mr. Snake, good day to you.'

A pillowcase of snakes was returning with him, to recruit the others to their cause. The little adder would be staying, but many of his kin had volunteered. The little adder dipped his head gracefully and draped about Narcissa's neck like a scarf, content to watch.

The snakes were proving to be valuable, if disconcerting, allies. Hetty had relayed the various doings of Inner Circle members, and a number of others, to them from their littlest spies. Much of it, of course, had to be filtered through the lens of having been observed by a snake, but when it was good, typically it was very good.

They were also good custodians of various important places. A detachment of smooth snakes was watching the shack in Little Hangleton, along with the big house. Others were monitoring Greyback's camp, and some were to travel all the way to Bulgaria and beyond. Bellatrix found she felt better, knowing that these stalwart, if sometimes disturbing, allies would be by her daughter's side.

'So you'll offer to host them?'

Desmond grinned. 'It's my duty to be a good subject, Trixie. He ordered me to keep Durmstrang ready so it can be used for an invasion. That's just what I'll do.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Don't get doctrinal, now.'

'Being doctrinal has saved more than one life.'

'You're as bad as my father in law was.'

Desmond snorted and gently patted his wife's hand. 'Hetty?'

'Yes, Des?'

'Be careful.'

'We will. I'm just going to keep Aunt and Uncle company, is all.'

He nodded, face making that odd expression that reminded her, very faintly, of someone. Of course, given that nearly all Purebloods were cousins, probably she'd seen it on someone else before.

'Is Viktor ready?'

'I think he is.'

Her son in law was indeed ready. He had his phial of Polyjuice standing at hand, listening as Uncle Erasmus told him a story about something or the other. The old man was holding Viktor's big hand in his withered old one, sometimes dropping his voice.

Viktor gently disentangled himself. 'I must go, Uncle.'

'Yes, all right. And you've got the things I sent?'

'I do, thank you.'

Uncle Erasmus smiled up at him. 'I don't remember who you are, but I enjoy having you here. And your wife. Rodolphus's daughter, isn't she?'

'Yes, she is.'

'Come and visit us. There aren't enough young people about these days. I wish...whatever is going on, if you can stop it, do. Things are not like they once were.'

'I will, Uncle.'

Viktor gently broke away and came to say goodbye. He embraced them all, and then came to her last. 'Herm-on-nee-knee miss you very much, Mother. She vants me to tell you not to vorry.'

'May as well tell me not to breath, boy.'

'I know. But she told me to tell you.'

'No doubt. Be careful, do you hear me? Be careful.' She seized his hand and shook him by the wrist, hard. He didn't move a bit, but he did smile, and bend to kiss her cheek.

'Ve are alvays careful.'

'You'd best be. Don't think I won't...something.'

He laughed softly and then stepped away. Kreacher had several small parcels that contained the valuables they were sending this time-paintings, jewellery, objets d'art that could be sold on the open market if need be. And more important things as well; family photos, old letters, diaries, miniatures of Rodolphus and Rabastan as toddlers.

It was all going into exile, the pieces of their life in Britain bourn away by a Bulgarian, to be kept safe in Albania, probably forever. It wasn't the loss of mere things; it was the knowledge that their lives were being transmitted, a piece at a time, to Elsewhere, in the tacit understanding that someday they would leave and never return.

He left, and so did the former Black sisters. Donning light cloaks, they had their maids take them to Snapdragon Circle, to speak to their father, Cygnus Black.

'Hello, Daddy.'

Daddy smiled at them. Beside him, Mother was brooding, face set. Bellatrix didn't even greet her mother. Instead, she came and brushed the frame, wishing Daddy was here right now. Surely he would have been able to help them, as he always had.

'Hello, loves! How are you?'

Bellatrix snapped her wand at Mother, encasing the portrait in a bubble of silence.

'We need your help, Daddy.'

'All right, sweetheart. What's happening?'

They caught him up on what was happening. Daddy nodded, asking questions at various points, sometimes gently chiding one of them for something they'd done or not done.

'Bellatrix Druella, you did what?' He said sharply after she mentioned fighting the Dementors.

'Someone had to, Daddy. And we did win.'

'Of course you did, but I'm still allowed to worry.'

Bellatrix smiled, feeling warm and smaller inside. She'd missed him so much all these years!

Narcissa took up the story. 'The children got Edric and Barty out, but there was a terrible cost...'

The whole story took over an hour. At the end, Daddy was unable to speak.

'My grandchildren...'

'Daddy?'

'What must I do to help them?'

'It gets worse, Daddy. There's multiple of them.'

'Horcruxes?'

'Yes, Daddy. We know of four, and there could be more of them.'

If he hadn't been dead already, Bellatrix would have been afraid that he was having a heart attack. He staggered, clutching his chest. 'That's impossible.'

'It's not, Daddy. I've examined them. There's no doubt in my mind.'

He shook his head. 'What have we done?'

Bellatrix wished she knew. 'We're trying to find out how to get rid of them. Could you ask the portraits for us? Someone has to know.'

'Of course I will, but darling, this sort of knowledge...even our family would not truck with this abomination. It's worse than a sin.'

'We might need...we've had the family sent oversees, Daddy.'

'Sent...?'

'The bones. Des is taking them for us.'

Cgynus looked stricken. 'The tombs are empty?'

'They are. It's this or leaving you all here. Rodolphus wouldn't leave his parents.'

Cygnus frowned. 'Tell him to come and see me. I knew Achilles enough to have an idea how he'd feel about that.'

Bellatrix grinned, pleased at the thought of her father giving her husband a ticking-off.

'Should we bring you as well, Daddy?'

'I would like that, but don't risk yourselves. I mean it, girls, your safety is my first concern.'

'Daddy?'

'Echo?' How long had it been since anyone had dared call Narcissa that?

'If the exiles are going to help us, then Andromeda will be there.'

'I rather thought. Listen to me, both of you: this ends with us. Blood purity has done nothing but harm our family, and I rue the day I ever thought any of it was a good idea. If she'll have you, reconcile with her.'

'Is that an order, Daddy?'

'It definitely is. You know, I thought...I thought she'd come back. And then I died and it was too late. I am sorry every single day that I didn't...it was too late. She might not ever forgive us. But if she's willing, for my sake, reach out to her.'

They both nodded. Perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn't too late for them as it was for the others. Bellatrix didn't let herself think much about her little sister, but now that it was said, she found she wished Meddie was here.

'She told me. She said joining would bring me nothing but misery. She was right, and now...'

'Tell her that, Bellatrix. Apologise. If I could, I would do it.'

Bellatrix hated being wrong, and she hated having to admit it. But if their family could come back together...if they could make a world that was better than this one...she touched the frame lightly.

'What else, Daddy?'

'I am so proud of you both. Just keep me updated, won't you?'

They promised, and then went home. Snape met them, looking like a large self-satisfied cat.

'Well, Bellatrix, there is no doubt the girl is yours.'

'Never has been, you great pillock. Why, what has she done?'

Snape actually laughed. 'She's terrorised Mcnair into giving the body back.'

'How?'

He snorted. 'She said if he wanted to talk it over, she was bringing the wolves for troops exercises right on the border.'

Bellatrix nodded. 'That's my girl.'

Then, wonder of wonders, Snape was laughing, and she laughed with him, head thrown back, a spot of light in a very dark day.

Viktor had to restrain himself from running to his wife, who half pounced him. He gently pressed her back. 'Don't touch me, love. I've got them.'

'The Horcruxes?'

'Yes. I don't want them touching you, even a little. Kreacher, would you find a place for them?'

Kreacher swooped down and magically removed the tiny boxes that held the cup and diary.

'Snape doesn't want them all in the same place. We still don't know how many there are.'

'I agree. Are you all right?' She flung her arms about him and he leant carefully into her, smelling her hair, breathing deeply.

'I'm glad you're home. I've missed you!'

'I've missed you as well. Any news about Grandmama?'

She beamed. 'She's coming home, Viktor.'

'How did you-why do I even ask? If anyone could do it, it's you.'

She blushed, pleased by the praise. 'Mcnair tried to bully me. Bully us, you were there too.'

'Polyjuice?'

'Mmm hmm.'

He listened to the story with incredulous glee. 'That was brilliant! He must have been ready to faint.'

'He wasn't happy. I hope he doesn't take it out on Mother and Father.'

'Your mother's more than his equal, love. When he tried to have their house searched, she kicked him in the...'

'She didn't!'

'Twice.'

She laughed, leaning into him. He held her, relieved to have her with him, warm and real, safe. 'Don't get any ideas, now.'

'Never. We have to tell the uncles, though.'

'And Scabior. He's mentioned not liking Mcnair.'

Hand in hand, they went to do just that. The uncles were both pleased and amused by what had happened in regards to the unfortunate Mcnair and his various body parts.

'What happened, Viktor?'

'Aunt Gennie and Aunt Cissy helped prepare her. The priest explained, and then they did it. Mother was helping with Uncle and Aunt Cunegarde, and trying to make arrangements with Father and the uncles.'

He shook his head, remembering. He'd brought things to dress her in, and the aunts had been in the process when the door had flown opened. Instead of aurors, this time it was a team of medi-wizards in smocks and Bubble-head charms, who handed over a warrant and took the bier on which Grandmama had been laid out.

'Where were you, Viktor?'

'I was in Papa's room. The elves told us what was happening.'

'How is Martin?' Uncle Rumen sounded too casual, and he wasn't quite looking at Viktor.

'He is...not better, Uncle, but he seemed more aware.'

'Are you all right?'

'It was hard. But he did try.'

Uncle Penko clapped his shoulder. 'Was there some trigger, do you perceive, that might have helped?'

'He was worried about us.'

'How so?'

Viktor wasn't exactly looking forward to this next part. 'Snape has a plan, and no one is going to like it.'

When he was done explaining, they sat in silence. Uncle Rumen finally spoke. 'You think this advisable, my lord?'

'I do. My lady?'

Hermione dipped her head. 'As long as the Horcruxes exist, they pose a threat to us. Is there some alternative to using Grindelwald?'

The uncles were quiet. 'It's conceivable that somewhere the information exists. But it would take months or years for us to find it, and there's no guarantees. If it's anywhere, it's Albania.'

'We could ask Luan to look for us.' Hermione reached over and took his hand with her trembling one. It felt like the brushing of a moth's wings held it in the palm of a hand.

'We could, but it might attract attention. The only other possibility is Egypt, but that's a far stretch.'

'Then this is the only way.'

Hermione nodded, resolute. 'I agree.'

'Your word is law, my lord and lady.'

'Uncle Rumen? You don't like this.'

'No, I don't. I think this is a terrible idea, but as you've said, there are no alternatives here. We could try to hide them forever-encase them in rocks and throw the rocks into the ocean, toss them into some volcano or something-but what guarantee do we have that it would work. At best, we'd never be wholly sure that it had actually worked until we tried to kill him. At worst, there could be some unforeseen disaster if we tried to destroy them.'

'Brother...' Uncle Penko leant over to clap Uncle Rumen's shoulder as he had Viktor's. 'I'm sorry.'

'So am I. None of us did this. But my lord, what will we do with him after?'

'A good question, Uncle.'

'His crimes are beyond pardoning.'

'Of course they are.'

'Neither would it be fair of us to use him without somehow benefiting him. Have you considered that?'

Viktor nodded. 'With my lady's permission, once we are through with Grindelwald, we'll send him to a secure monastery. Perhaps he will find true contrition for his crimes there.'

'That's what we meant to do with Stefan, Uncle.'

Uncle Rumen nodded tiredly. 'We can't possibly bruit it about that we're harbouring Gellert Grindelwald. How will we remove him from Nurmengard?'

Hermione was clearly working this through in her mind. 'We'll put it out that he's died. He isn't young, and Nurmengard is hardly a holiday retreat. That way there won't be questions. And it will make the transition to the monastery easier.'

'Snape will no doubt be able to help with that.'

'It's decided, then.' Uncle Rumen wasn't looking at them. Viktor was surprised to feel a moment of deep worry, almost panic. Suppose this alienated his uncle? Suppose...he swallowed hard. He'd lost his mother and his father too. He didn't want to lose his uncles. But what else could he do?

Hermione's fingers curled loosely on his. 'Uncle Penko, I feel a little light-headed. Would you walk me outside for some fresh air?'

Uncle Penko got it at once. 'Of course I will. Have you been taking your vitamin potions?' The two left, bickering lightly about silly things.

'Uncle Rumen?'

'Viktor?'

'What are you thinking?'

His uncle finally looked at him. 'That I am glad not to have to make this choice, because no alternative is a good one.'

'No.'

'I don't know what to say, Viktor. I trust you, and your instincts, and you are my lawful ruler. That should be enough for you.'

'Things aren't...you've always known me.'

'I used to feed you, do you remember?'

Only a little. 'A bit. I wouldn't want for something to cause us to have a rupture.'

'Viktor' said his uncle impatiently 'don't be silly. I will always love you. I have since you were born, and nothing that happens will change that. But do you understand my disquiet?'

'I do. And if there was any other way...in the end, the good of Europe comes before my feelings on this issue, Viktor.'

'If I could make it differently, I would.'

'I know.'

It was decided, then. As Snape had said, it was a start. Viktor breathed another prayer to St. Mikhail and started to plan the next step.

He wasn't the only one. At Durmstrang, Moody-Feathering was stepping from the lake, shaking water from his hair as elves hurried forth with towels, scolding about catching one's death. Elves typically do not like water, and whenever he swam, at least twenty would stand watch, convinced he would drown or sicken.

He made his way back to the school, showered and dressed. Malfoy would come tonight, and his small band, bound for Estonia, Albania and vengeance. Moody-Feathering sipped a mug of tisane pressed on him by and elf and thought.

The exiles would come soon. He would host them, and Snape had told him that he wanted Moody-Feathering to address the Order, tell them who he was, try to bring them round.

His face twisted. He'd thrown in his lot with Snape, and so he'd help the man. He thought, all things being equal, that probably the potions master was the best hope Britain had. But damned if wasn't bitter to him, and damned if he didn't find himself musing on things at times like this.

He'd devoted his life to training young people, to doing what was right, and to keeping peace, defending people who couldn't defend themselves. After a lifetime of it, he found himself, in his old age, allied to the very people he'd spent his life trying to imprison.

The elves announced Malfoy and his party. The group bounded in, high-spirited, laughing as for a holiday. Moody-Feathering embraced them, kissed Miss Kask's cheek and then settled in for the evening, pushing the matter of the Order from his mind.

He couldn't sleep that night, so near midnight, he was surprised when Malfoy joined him. 'Is it all right, Uncle?'

'Please. How are you holding up, lad?'

Malfoy looked wry, very like his father. 'Glad to get this done.'

'Oh?'

'It was the price of the Estonian's support.'

A fair bargain. 'Once they're rooted out?'

'The exiles, and then trying to broker a deal with the Swedes. They and Norway are the sole holdouts.'

'Do you think they'll come round?'

Malfoy looked grim, mouth tight. 'I think they'll have to. Assuming Germany does as well, that would give us nearly all of Europe. Where would that leave them?'

'What will you offer?'

'An absence of werewolves holding troop exercises on their borders.'

Moody-Feathering looked at him evenly, and Malfoy flushed slightly, dipping his head.

'I'm sorry, Uncle, that was flippant. Trade, mainly, and the promise of protection should the need arise. And opportunity for advancement, I should think.'

'Advancement?'

Malfoy dropped his voice. 'This is something that has never been seen before, Uncle. We don't know what form things will take, but it's not unlikely that we'll need people to help us run things regionally. If one of them should come to us first...'

'Ah. What does Krum say?'

'We haven't discussed it as such. Viktor...he's such a good bloke he doesn't always remember that other people might not be. He's struggling with it, I think.'

'I can see that. Have you discussed your concerns with him?'

'The three of us. It's going to be a hell of a mess to clean up, when this is done. Sorry.'

'Not at all. I agree. You've thought it through, then?'

'We have. A lot of things will need to be decided by tribunal. War crimes trials, redrawing treaties, things of that nature. If we dangle that in front of the Norwegians and Swedes, that might tempt them.'

Moody-Feathering was impressed despite himself. 'You've given this thought.'

'I have. My father is Lucius Malfoy, remember?' He smiled a little, softening it to a playful jab.

'You're quite like him, I think.'

'I don't know. I used to think so.'

Moody-Feathering's internal brow rose. 'How do you mean?'

'Things aren't like they were, Uncle. Neither of us is quite who we might have been. I'm not, so it's harder to feel like I did. Does that make sense?'

'You've had to find a different way to relate to him, then? Your father?'

'Yes, exactly. I still love him very much, but things are more complicated.'

Moody-Feathering was startled to find himself wanting to comfort the boy. He'd had a damned hard row to hoe, it seemed to him.

'That's all right. It takes time to see things clearly after a thing like all this.'

'But it gets better, you think?'

'I think it might. You've got ghosts now, boy, and they won't ever go away. But time will mute them. Someday you'll strain to remember how they looked, and their names.'

'Is that better, or worse?'

Moody-Feathering sighed. 'Wish I knew, lad. Wish I knew.'


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**It's my birthday today. Ordinarily I'd indulge in some CP to celebrate in traditional fashion, so I've got a proposal for y'all a little later on.**

**Penko misquotes Margeret Atwood (yes, really).**

**The dialogue in German translates to 'What? What is this? Who are you?'**

**The word in Romanian is dealt with down below*.**

The huts were on fire, and the wolves were driving lines of women and children toward them. Draco found Vaike, who was standing over the prisoners, face smeared with ashes and blood.

_'*Darling, help me? I think they might respond to another woman better than a man.*'_

The women were pitiful looking. Twenty or so and twice as many children, thin and sallow with malnutrition, most of them bruised. A few of them were visibly pregnant, and two had been carried from a filthy hut clutching newborns.

Vaike gave him a nod and he stepped back. Next to the she-wolves, she looked sturdy and bold, unafraid. The women cowered, whimpering. Vaike gave Arco a nod and he moved his men back a few paces to give them space.

_'*Hello, ladies. My name is Vaike. No one is going to hurt you. We're taking you to hospital in Tallinn. After that, you've a choice. You can return to your families, or go with our man Arco to Sofia. If you go, the Vicereine of Bulgaria, Hermione, would like you to stay as her guests. All right? Does anyone have any questions?_'*'

A woman stepped forward, staring at her feet. _'*Do we get to keep our children?*'_

_'*Of course you do.*'_

_'*Lots of wolves there. Bulgaria.*'_

_'*There are. There are villages for you, with houses and jobs. Your children will go to school. There will be medical care and food for everyone. You've my personal word that these men_*' she pointed at the captives '_*will never hurt you again.*'_

_'*Are you going to kill them?*'_

Vaike smiled a little. _'*We are, yes.*'_

Draco was shocked when a thin cheer rose from the ranks of the she-wolves. Several started to weep. One of them came forward and embraced Vaike, head down. Vaike held her a moment and then stepped back.

_'*Ready to go?*'_

The women joined hands and Portkeyed to Tallinn. That left the wolves, sixty of them. Their own wolves were standing in a tight circle, visibly angry. Arco came back.

_'*Hospital's got them, Miss. Are we ready?*' _His normally mild eyes were bright, and his hands were clenched into fists.

_'*You really hate them, Eugen, don't you?*'_

_'*I'll kill every one of them myself with my bare hands if you tell me to.*'_

Paavo clapped his shoulder. '_*Thanks, Eugen.*'_

Vaike took her time, going row on row, choosing out the ones she remembered. There were five. The other fifty-five looked hopeful, clearly expecting...something.

The five stared defiantly at them, heads high. _'*What the hell is this? Are you people aurors?*'_

_'*Don't you remember me?*' _

Vaike tipped back her head and stared the wolf right in the eye.

_'*No.*'_

_'*I remember you. I remember your killing my aunt and uncle.*'_

_'*It was war. It happens.*'_

_'*It happened to the wrong people. Eugen, Sandru, get everything ready, would you, please?*'_

_'*This isn't legal*' _interjected the wolf who'd spoken _'*we're citizens. We get a trial.*'_

_'*You're citizens*' _said Draco easily _'*but I'm not.*'_

_'*You can't just kill us!*'_

_'*File a complaint with your representative. In the meantime, Arco, are we almost ready?*'_

There were few trees, this high on the mountain, and the trees that were there were scrubby little pines, not fit for use as a gallows. So they had brought one, lightened and shrunk, and the wolves had erected it in a field some distance away, near the road. Viktor had also lent them gibbets, and the wolves were busy erecting these as the others escorted the first of the prisoners.

It took a long time. The five they saved for last, bound together. The other fifty-five were swinging from the gibbets, hanging on spikes driven into the rock, one every kilometre through the twisting mountain road the bandits had harried.

Sandru had gone to check on the she-wolves and came back, teeth gritted. He turned and snarled at the captives, hands clenched into claws. Draco felt a thrill of fear down his spine and shoved it down. Sandru had sold insurance before he got bitten; he wouldn't savage anyone that wasn't an enemy.

_'*Sandru?*'_

He showed them the healers' preliminary reports. All the women were underweight, and almost all of them showed signs of serious physical trauma of divers sorts, even the youngest amongst them. It didn't exactly take a genius to be able to figure out the meaning there. Draco's eyes went to Vaike, who sucked in a breath, lips white.

_'*War, was it, you sons of bitches?*'_

She slashed her wand at the closest one and a gash appeared. _'*Arco? Does that offer still stand?*'_

_'*Give us the word.*'_

_'*I don't want to make you feel used. If you want me to do my own dirty work, that's all right too.*'_

Sandru stepped up next to the shorter, slighter wolf. _'*That's really very kind of you, Miss, but we want a piece of these bastards.*'_

Instead of answering, she sliced the bonds that held the captives. The spell drew blood more blood. As Draco watched, the wolves seemed to undergo a subtle metamorphosis, nostrils flaring, muscles standing out, fingers hooked to use as weapons.

The first of the captives started to run and the others followed. Not quickly enough, as it turned out.

After, and Vaike threw her arms round him and held him fiercely, pressing her mouth to his hard. He could feel her heart against his, the motion of her breasts. His heart was full of light, and the moon, a thin crescent, was rising above them.

The group bathed in a river not far from the road, the young people in a copse of trees to shield Vaike's modesty, the wolves farther down. The gibbets creaked eerily, but Draco felt exhilarated rather than disturbed. He plunged under and came up, shirt sticking to his skin. Beside him, Paavo was quiet.

_'*Are you all right, Paavo?*'_

_'*Fine. You?*'_

_'*Couldn't be better.*'_

Paavo nodded. _'*You're quite a scary bloke, you know that?*'_

_'*I've been told. Have I upset you?*'_

_'*No. It's just...weird, I suppose. This time last year, things were sane.*'_

_'*Not for me, mate. We were testifying in front of the Conclave.*'_

Paavo nodded. _'*That must've been fucking awful.*_'

_'*You've no idea. Still, it was better than the year before.*'_

_'*The wolves came, is that right?*'_

_'*Mmm hmm.*'_

Paavo ducked up and rubbed a little soap into his hair. _'*Is it weird for you? That they're on our side now?*'_

Draco started washing his own hair. _'*At first. Still, rather them than some others. At least the wolves have honour.*'_

Paavo's eyes darted to where the wolves were bathing the blood off half a kilometre downstream. _'*They're good blokes, a lot of them. It's shite that they got treated like that by their own people.*_''

_'*We're going to take care of that when we talk to those people.*'_

_'*And then that son of a bitch in Britain.*'_

Draco ducked under and came up smiling. '_*Damned right. Him most of all.*'_

Paavo was quiet a moment, scraping dried blood from under his nails.

_'*You know, I wasn't sure about you at first. Being with my sister, I mean.*'_

_'*You've changed your mind?*'_

_'*You helped kill sixty wolves for us just now, Malfoy. If that's not sincerity, I don't know what is.*'_

_'*So you aren't going to castrate me?*'_

Paavo laughed. _'*I didn't say that, now.*'_

_'*How am I supposed to marry your sister if you've cut it off?*'_

_'*You aren't! Courtly love is making a come-back, Malfoy. You could make a fashion.*'_

_'*I'll pass, thanks.*'_

_'*Damned right you will.*' _

Paavo scowled, and Draco, laughing, splashed him. Vaike, who'd been shooed behind a tree by the elves, poked her head out.

_'*What are you two doing?*'_

_'*He's picking on me, Vaike.*' _

_'*Good, Paavo, you're a prat.*'_

They laughed again, and got out, preparing to return to Tallinn, and then, after a few day with the Kasks, to Albania.

At the Kasks' flat, they met up again with Vata and Ismaili, who'd been asked to come. Luan Ismaili was perhaps the single most straight-laced person he'd ever met, but Hermione had explained things, and Draco welcomed the dour older lad.

Now they were sitting about the table in the Kasks' modest flat. _'*Krum's sure?*' _They'd be brought up to speed on the situation with Grindelwald and everything else.

_'*We all are, Paavo.*'_

He looked unsure. Vaike leant over and batted the back of his head. _'*What, you've got a better idea?*'_

_'*I never said that. Just that maybe unleashing the world's most evil wizard is possibly a bit dangerous.*'_

_'*That was something I wanted to put to Luan, actually. Whilst we're in Tirana, would you make inquiries about how we might contain him?*'_

_'*I'd be glad to.*' _

He was perhaps the oddest choice for a librarian-spy ever, but Draco knew he could sniff it out if it existed. And attract no attention whilst he did it.

_'*All right, then.*'_

Albania went as well as Estonia, or better. Anu had contributed his memories of the night his village was burnt, and they found three of the wolves out of forty-two. Having done for them, they returned to Tirana.

It was surreal for Draco, because Anu's townhouse was decorated much like Malfoy Manor, in that things Draco remembered were hanging on the walls. His parents were sending their possessions, and it both pleased and frightened him. He was glad to see they were coming, but when they did, England, and his childhood, was gone forever. He could take the oath anytime he wanted and become a Bulgarian, but what would that mean?

His perturbation was slightly tampered by a triumph of a sort. Which is to say, Ismaili came back with a stack of old manuscripts, covered in dust, flicking fastidiously at his shirt.

_'*Found something.*'_

He spread out the books and scolls, handling the folios with reverent care.

_'*What's that?*'_

_'*Nothing about the-items-but some things about containing...people.*'_

Draco liked the discretion. _'*Show me?*'_

Ismaili did.

In Britain, false-Mulciber was touring the new exhibit. Sirius's creepy elf barked an order at three others, who were carrying stacks of paper. They all jumped, and then went back to exactly what they'd been doing.

It was an excellent exhibit, if he said so himself. The walls were lined with first-edition books of the Dark Lord's speeches and writings and books published about him, from oldest to newest.

Cases held small personal artefacts, most of which, suspected false-Mulciber, were blatant fakes. A silver baby cup, some little clothes, a few pictures of the stiff-looking wizards of the last century, watercolours of dogs and flowers supposedly done by the Dark Lord's mother.

Mixed in were the Horcruxes. The cup was a small, two handled drinking krater, wrought in gold. A small badger capered on one side. This one, of course, was the decoy; the real one was safely contained in Bulgaria. False-Mulciber used his magic to turn the thing, looking at the other side and bottom. It was beautiful, no doubt, but something about this was tickling at his brain.

'Archie, how good to see you, old friend.'

False-Mulciber bowed. 'My lord, you honour us with your presence.'

'Not at all. We were most eager to see what you've done.'

'Does my lord like it?'

'We are deeply pleased. Our things are displayed most advantageously, and the chalk drawings strike just the right note.'

The Dark Lord hadn't borrowed anyone, and he walked freely, a compact lad of fifteen. False-Mulciber remembered Harry Potter's parents, and had liked them. Seeing this thing lodged in their son was just the smallest of the tragedies this era had wrought.

The Dark Lord picked up the cup, sighing. False-Mulciber breathed deeply, knowing this was a kind of Rubicon, this was the test and either the beginning or the end of all things so far as he was concerned.

Harry Potter's face smiled. 'So many memories of those days, Archie, do you recall?'

'I do, my lord.'

He set the cup down without further comment. False-Mulciber took a chance.

'This cup, my lord.'

'What of it?'

'The workmanship is exquisite.'

'Things were better made in those days.' The Dark Lord looked nostalgic, an odd expression on such a young face. 'It came from an ancestor of Ours.'

'I would quite like to copy the scene, with my lord's permission. For a painting.'

'Do, do. We might display it, or make copies for sale to fund the...coming excursion in Europe. Morreau, of course, will be of good use, but there is little substitute for capital, Archie, is there?'

'Of course not, my lord.'

'You might borrow it tonight and return it. We trust you.'

False-Mulciber bowed, carefully taking the cup in both hands. He could feel the enchantments on it, Snape's own enchantments that had convinced the Dark Lord the thing was real.

It wasn't until later he made the connexion. Sitting at Mulciber's worktable, sketching the cup, the tickle in his brain became a hard poke. He picked up the cup and held it, moving it in his hands.

On the very bottom, he felt a small ridge. He flipped the cup and cast a magnifying spell on it. It was a simple thing, two interlocking Hs. It came to him like a clap of thunder, like a kick, like falling in love.

He called Mippy, and then found himself standing before Snape in Spinner's End.

'Mulciber, what a surprise. Something the matter?'

'The four founders. It's Helga Hufflepuff's cup. Find the other founder's possessions and one of those could be it.'

Snape's eyes widened. 'Well done, Archie.'

Snape's inscrutable eyes gave nothing as Mulciber went back to his own house, and started his painting, having found the next piece.

Three days later, Penko Krum stepped back and nodded his approval at the room. It was deep in the bowels of the Ministry, a room even below the deathroom, an ancient cellar cut into the rock generations earlier.

Goblins had come to reinforce things, and then charms masters had laid down a heavy foundation of spells, charms and enchantments. The sigils Luan Ismaili had sent had been carved into the rock, smeared with oils and unguents to nullify any wandless magic attempts.

Other than that, it was a cell. A simple but cosy bed, a chair, a table, a charmed pitcher of water, a wooden cup, a hook for clothing. That was all. The elves had put a rug on the floor, and would hang tapestries on the walls to prevent Grindelwald from being able to counter the sigils somehow. It was, thought Penko, a very good start.

'Uncle?'

'Hello, Viktor.'

'We're leaving now.'

Penko nodded, swallowing hard. He remembered the tiny baby with the headful of dense Krum hair, holding the crumpled red bundle in his arms, feeling the first stirrings of love, wanting to care for the tiny fellow, wanting to keep him safe.

He still wanted to keep him safe, but he couldn't, now. He had to let him go. Penko reached out and put a hand on the nape of his nephew's neck, startling himself.

'Don't make me write Martin and tell him how you've died. Do you hear me?'

'I do.' Viktor looked very resolute, and older than seventeen. There was more silver in his hair. He smiled at his uncle.

'Come with us, Uncle. Then perhaps we could take a flight after?'

'I'd like that.'

The two men walked toward the door, into darkness or into light Penko didn't quite know.

Nurmengard was a darkly forbidding building set in the mountains, sleekly black as though dipped in blood. In the moonlight, the stones seemed to glow with some internal light, giving a sense, not of malevolence but of heaviness, of a dark and terrible history. It was a place that had seen so much suffering the air seemed steeped in it, the hideous weight of man's inhumanity to man made stone.

The small party moved in a brisk wedge, stopping at the gate. Viktor held up his ring, and the chains vanished like smoke, as the gates creaked slowly open. The world inside the wards was silent. No animals rustled. There was a low persistent whirring like the sounds of a machine, and nothing else.

The party followed the route laid out on the schematic Rumen had sent with them. He had wanted to go himself, but Hermione had kissed his cheek and refused him.

'Ivan and Yana need you, Uncle.'

He had agreed, but tensely, and Penko had known by the angle of his shoulders that his brother was afraid. He, himself, was afraid. His mouth was full of dust and his hands slippery as they ascended and ascended and ascended to meet the monster who lived at the top of the tower.

Grindelwald's cell was in the very pinnacle. The cell door looked rusted and disused, and when it opened (Scabior did it as the others trained their wands on the aperture, ready to attack whatever came out) it gave a low metallic moan, as thought it had not been opened for a very long time.

The man inside was shrunken, like a scarecrow, dressed in rags. He sat from his pile of straw, rubbing his eyes. _'Was? Was ist das? Wer sind Sie?'_

Hermione stepped forward and swished. '*_Mr. Gridelwald?*_'

The door had closed behind them, rasping on the hinges. It smelt like nothing in the room, an aggressively unpleasant absence of all things organic. Grindelwald himself seemed merely another object, a cog in this horrible mechanical beast.

'*_A little girl, is it? Come closer, child, I should like to look at you_.*'

'_*And your companions?*'_

Viktor dropped his cowl and the old man stared.

_'**Krum, come at last to see the monster in the flesh. How droll.*'_

_'*Yes, sir. We've an offer for you.*'_

_'*An offer?*'_

_'*That's right. We have need of your expertise in Dark magic.*'_

Grindlewald pulled himself to a full sit. '_*Oh? What's in it for me?*'_

_'*Freedom from this place. And a chance to use your mind.*'_

_'*What sort of project is this, anyhow? You high lords held yourselves above such things, as I recall it.*'_

_'*Do you want to help us, or not?*'_

Grindelwald looked cagey. _'*Freedom for how long?*'_

_'*However long you live. After we've finished the project, you would go to a monastery. It would be a quiet, humble life, but better than this.*'_

_'*This, boy, is the most advanced magical prison in the world. Speak of it with the respect due it.*'_

_'*If you aren't interested...*'_

_'*I've never said that. Who is this girl?*'_

_'*My name is Hermione, Mr. Grindelwald.*'_

_'*Your surname?*'_

_'*Married or maiden?*'_

He snorted and waved a hand at the men. _'*I know your married name, child.*'_

_'*Lestrange.*' _

Grindelwald smiled a little. He had few teeth left.

_'*Xerxes Lestrange's daughter, are you? I knew that man.*'_

_'*Great-granddaughter, sir.*'_

_'*How long have I been here?*'_

_'*Fifty years, sir.*'_

Grindelwald started to laugh. It was an ugly, rusty noise, like the caw of a rook. _'*Dumbledore's sent you to tempt me, has he? Show me what I've missed?*'_

_'*Professor Dumbledore is dead, sir.*'_

_'*I swore I'd outlive him, and I have. Who rules Britain now, if not dear Albus?*'_

_'*Come with us and we'll tell you.*'_

Grindelwald slowly rose on stick-like legs. '_*You think, child, a few scraps of news and an impressive lineage will make me help you? I was the most feared man in Europe.*'_

'*_Was_*' said Viktor in a hard, intense voice very unlike his usual one. '*_Used to be. Now you're an old man, living in this prison with nothing but remembered glory to sustain him.*'_

_'*What would you know of glory, my lord Krum? Your father-grandfather?-was a stiff-necked hayseed with no vision. Should I assume you are different?'*_

'* _If you'd rather be known as an also-ran, that's your own affaire. Hermione, love, let's go. We don't need help from a maundering failure.*'_

Penko bit down on his cheek. Where had his shy, diffident, sweet-natured Viktor got this sharp tongue from? Grindelwald, at least, didn't rise to the bait. He laughed, hands braced on a wall to keep himself stable.

_'*Big words from a boy. What have you done, precisely?*'_

'*_What you could not. Europe is united under our aegis, and ministers bow to us as we pass by. If you're content to be a footnote in our story, that's fine. Not everyone has a taste for that sort of honour.*'_

Grindelwald laughed again, rustily. '*_Your crude tactics are transparent, but I am intrigued despite that. You want me to teach you how to rule, is that it?*'_

_'*We want to know many things, Grindelwald.*'_

_'*I will want proof of these great deeds.*'_

_'*Proof and more.*'_

_'*More?*'_

_'*A chance to pass on all you know. Surely that's something to you?*'_

Grindelwald made a mocking sort of sketched bow. '_*If you are what you say you are, then perhaps it is, at that. Perhaps. Lead on.*'_

Scabior came forward with charmed manacles to prevent Grindelwald from escape. They chained and stunned him, and then transported him to his cell. Viktor and Penko took that flight.

In an upper level of the Ministry, Nicolae Paval rolled over, jarring Rita. She groaned, tugging the blankets tighter to herself. Pavel stroked her arm, growling softly to soothe her. She didn't wake, just burrowed in and kept sleeping.

Pavel snuggled closer. She was cool and soft to the touch. Wolves typically dislike solitude, and Pavel was no exception. He relished having another person next to him, waking up to someone else's smell, and feeling her soft breath on the back of his neck.

And he liked Rita herself. She was smart, and didn't seem to care he was a werewolf. The whole thing with Greyback had genuinely upset and outraged her, another check in her favour. Finally, her sex drive quite matched his, no small feat.

She sighed, and he growled again, low and soft. It was nice to be able to express that part of himself to a woman. There were so few she-wolves, most of them trying to pass, and the sense of freedom that came with Rita's lack of fear when he playfully pounced and pinned her, and her cheerful acceptance of his growls and grumbles, was refreshing to him.

He waited another few minutes and stood up. They'd agreed on no goodbyes. He slipped into what he thought of as his costume, the clothes he wore to portray Malfoy. The last thing was the Polyjuice.

As Malfoy, he walked down the corridors until he came to the office. Penko Krum was there, holding a sheath of paper and a number of other things.

'We'll want you back as quickly as possible, Pavel. We'll need you for this thing with the English.'

'Ready, Kreacher?'

They went.

England was cold. He shivered a little, tugging the collar of Malfoy's nice coat up. Snape was there to meet him, hard face curled into an expression that Pavel expected was supposed to be friendly. Or affectionate, something.

'Godson, how good to see you. Our lord bids me bring you to your parents before coming to see his lordship.'

'Thank you, Godfather.' The two embraced stiffly. Snape felt like a bag of sticks, all knobs and angles. The man seized his arm and they Apparated to Malfoy Manor.

Even more jarring and awkward was the meeting with the two elder Malfoys, both of whom immediately hugged him. Lucius Malfoy, he was disturbed to discover, actually gave excellent hugs.

A snake popped from the neck of the woman's robes. 'Draco, we've some houseguests, darl...I mean, some guests.'

Pavel slowly extended a hand-Malfoy's hand-and caressed the snake's gently ridged skull. It was, he thought, an adder. The little adder cocked his head, showing his scales off to best advantage.

'That's interesting. Mother.'

'Isn't it?'

Abruptly a pain lanced down his arm, almost driving him to his knees. He gasped, trying to find words, and could only gurgle helplessly, clutching his left forearm. 'Ah! _Nenorocitule_!'

Lucius Malfoy gently tugged his hand away from his burning arm. 'You're being summoned, Draco.' He emphasised the name ever so slightly, and Pavel stood up, forcing himself to act normal.

'Yes, sorry. Father.'

'It's all right. We'll both go.'

Madam Malfoy bent and pecked his cheek, taking the chance to hiss in his ear. 'English, love, English!'

'Yes, Mother. I will see you soon.'

The Dark Lord was lounging in Hogwarts, in his true body, a boy of about fifteen. Pavel bowed, kissing his hem, and recited the story he'd been given. He handed over the notes Snape had supplied to him and stayed kneeling humbly, creeped out by the essentially weirdness of the situation.

'Excellent, Draco. We are well-pleased by this. You say Weasley is too well guarded to strike?'

'At the moment, my lord.'

'I trust you will continue to seek a way?'

'At your lordship's command.'

'Quite, quite. Tell me, Draco, what progress have you made on the ideological issues I've set to you studying?'

Snape's very precise notes covered this as well. Pavel was still kneeling. 'The mongrelisation has taken root in them, my lord. I believe them ripe for the taking when the moment comes.'

'Do you, Draco? What do you base that one, We wonder?'

'The things I have observed, my lord. Weasley serves under a woman, Minister Vulpes. The English children speak Romanian. Some of the women have intermarried with Romanian men.'

'As We have always said, exposure to foreign elements has a corrupting influence. Do you see, Draco?'

'I do, my lord.'

'Good. When the times, you will personally lead Our forces to exterminate them. They are beyond saving.'

'Yes, my lord.'

'And then, of course, the rest of Europe. There are enemies everywhere, Draco, are there not?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'In Bulgaria, for instance. Your cousin and her husband seem to be conspiring against me. What do you think about that, Draco?'

'My lord, they are your lordship's most faithful friends abroad.'

'I very much doubt that, Draco. Very much. Go, now, and think about that. Which side you'd rather be on.'

Pavel rose, bowing, and made good his escape, feeling sorry for the Malfoy kid. If this was being a Pureblood, he was damned glad to be a mudblood werewolf. He went back to Malfoy Manor.

***An Immodest Proposal: On the one hand, I'm a little impressed with Pavel, in that no one, to my extensive knowledge of such things, has ever used the word 'Motherfucker' in front of either elder Malfoys and got away unscathed, ie unsmacked.**

**On the other hand, is that the sort of thing we should be letting go? Would a bit of CP (in one-shot form) go amiss here? Wouldn't want the high moral tone to suffer ;)**

**Or if anyone would like to see another pairing (again, in a one-shot), let me know.**


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Grindelwald is insisting on being addressed in German. (This issue should be negated by the translation charms, but here we are.) 'Herr Doktor' is the title used for , according to Google. It seems the most suitable title, as he's teaching them and is over a hundred years old. **

Cunegarde Lestrange Wilkes Mulciber Lestrange sometimes dreamed, and when she did, quite often, it was of other worlds, other possible lives, things that might have been and things that wouldn't be.

Sometimes it was dreaming about what might have happened had her mother lived, and encouraged her to choose a different husband, or helped her when the problems between herself and Allard had started.

Sometimes it was dreams where she had confronted him when she'd first found out about the Mink woman, demanded he stop, dun him with his flagrant infidelity to her and threaten to shame him publicly should he not desist immediately.

Mostly she dreamed about her children, and how she might have saved them if she'd tried. Not so much Aethelfred, much though she'd loved him-he'd been doomed the moment her husband infected and impregnated her, and that was a tragedy she had long since learnt to live with.

So it was Ermentrude, usually, and all the places she might have turned things had she tried. She might have listened to the rumours about Worthington...she might have let her daughter come home when she'd begged her, tears in her eyes...when she'd seen the black eye...when her daughter had written her from France, desperate for money...when the word had come that Trudie was dying and she'd waited three days...

Usually when she woke her pillow was damp with tears. She had long since come to terms with the immutability of the past, the chains that bound her to her own story, chains she dragged about with herself everywhere she went, the phantom clanking that always filled her ears.

Every so often, though, it was the girl. She'd chased her from the room that night, scared her, taught her a little more to hate. Cunegarde didn't think about it much awake; asleep, though, sometimes it came back.

In her dreams, she'd stops herself when the muggles come up. She doesn't call them dodgy peddlers and imply, however much she might not have meant it quite like the child had taken it, that they had left her on purpose.

In her dreams, the girl comes to her and kneels, putting her head in Cunegarde's lap. Cunegarde doesn't drive her from the room; instead, she puts in a hand in her hair and encourages her to describe what she feels, prompting, gently helping her work through it.

In the dreams, she doesn't panic because, in her excited state, the girl reminds her of Trudie. She doesn't have to get her out no matter the cost, and she doesn't choose a subject she knows she will do that.. She doesn't cry after, for a long time, and feel, when Rodolphus's wife confronts her, that she deserves it.

It was one of those dreams she woke from when Bellatrix shrieked downstairs. 'THEY'VE DONE WHAT?'

Cunegarde sat up, groping for her wand. 'Linky, find out what this is.' Had the aurors come? Was the moment here at last?

Linky came back, as creaky and ancient as her mistress. 'Mistress, Mistress Hermione has taken Grindelwald to the Bulgarian Ministry.'

'What?'

Cunegarde tried to force herself to sit up and failed. 'My chair, Linky, hurry.'

Dressed and bewigged, she floated down the corridor to find out what this was about. Rodolphus's wife stormed by, ridiculous huge hair frizzing. She looked distraught, face twisted, mouth slightly open as she made a low distressed noise.

'Rodolphus's wife?'

'THIS IS NOT THE TIME!'

'Stop screaming and talk to me.'

'Yes, that will cheer me up.'

Cunegarde grunted. 'I've never liked you, Rodolphus's wife, but I'm a member of this family exactly like yourself. Have the children really freed Grindelwald?'

'Not once I'm through with them!'

'Stop it. Is it or is it not true?'

'It is.' The woman was breathing hard, scrawny shoulders working up and down. Cunegarde hovered closer, not liking proximity to this loud, brash woman her nephew had married, but wanting that same second chance she had extended to Eugenia and Hetty.

'Screaming at me will fix it, then?'

'Listen here, you mad old crow-'

'I certainly don't know how it is to make bad choices, do I, or have to live with them after? To wish you could take it all back? To know what you've done has ruined your life and those of your children?'

'YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THIS IS LIKE!'

'I HAVE EVERY IDEA OF WHAT THIS IS LIKE!'

Cunegarde's voice was thin and quavering but she'd meant what she'd said, and hoped it would be enough.

She turned her chair and the younger woman followed into her rooms. Cunegarde nodded to Linky to throw some incense on the brazier to cover the smell of old age and settled into her spot, imperious as a queen, perhaps the only woman in Britain who might have dared to treat Rodolphus's wife this way.

'So, here we are. What's happened with Grindelwald?'

Rodolphus's wife rubbed her temples. 'They've taken him from Nurmengard and have him in the Ministry with them.'

'So why are you upset? This is by far our best chance, is it not?'

'Because-because this is-'

'Because it's another step toward Dark magic, is that right?'

'Yes.'

'You certainly didn't need Grindelwald, nor my nephews, nor poor Barty, nor the others. You did it all on your own, isn't it?'

'That's hardly the point! Hermione is fifteen!'

'I know how old she is! The point is, this might have happened either way. What, did you think you would be able to shield her forever?'

'Yes!'

'Well, you can't. No more than I could have my own children, or Cygnus, or Achilles.'

Rodolphus's wife snarled but made no move to leave, or rise, and Cunegarde pressed forward.

'And how, exactly, did you plan to protect her from yourselves?'

'We would never have taught her any of that!'

'Not now. A year ago, would you have said that? Two years? Three?'

'I don't know.'

It seemed the truth to Cunegarde, so she nodded once. 'She's always wanted to please you. What are the odds she wouldn't have learnt it to make you proud of her?'

'I've always been proud of her!'

'Of course you have, you do have a heart, however warped. But the girl wants to achieve, and to make us pleased with her, and you'd have been pleased indeed by all this years ago. Don't deny it.'

'That isn't now, and it wouldn't have been Grindelwald.'

'True enough, but it is. The girl is good at what she does, Rodolphus's wife. She's doing just what we've trained her to do, yourself as much as I ever did.'

Rodolphus's wife bristled. 'Don't I know that?'

'Do you? We taught her to take charge and protect herself and that's what she's doing. She's given those people a stable country and she's trying to fix this morass. What else could we have asked of her?'

Rodolphus's wife dropped her head. 'To be safe.'

'None of us are safe, woman. Not you, not me, not your sister. Not the girl. We've given her the tools we have to make a go of this, and now we have to trust her to do the right thing.'

'Easy for you to say.'

'Is it? Have I a heart, Bellatrix, like yours?'

'Do you?'

'I did once.'

Rodolphus's wife cocked her head. 'You called me by my given name.'

'Don't get used to it! The point is, things don't have to end for you like they ended for me.'

'It's hardly the same-'

'No? I sold my daughter even as you did, and then watched as the world fell in on her. But you're lucky where I was not, in that you have time to fix this.'

'Fix it how, precisely? Hermione's in Bulgaria, for one.'

'Of course she is, but she still wants to know you love her! Weren't you listening to me just now? Tell her you're worried about her! Tell her you would be devastated if something happened, but woman, don't just let her drift away like I did, because the last thing I see before I die will be my daughter's face as I closed the door in it!'

Cunegarde's bony chest was rising and falling in emotion, hands clawing the air for emphasis, breathing hard. When Rodolphus's wife spoke, her voice was low and rough.

'Perhaps you do know. What would you...'

'Make sure she knows, no matter what, that door is open. Maybe you'll be happier than I.'

'Perhaps it would help if you wrote her as well. And Cissy.'

'All of us will write her. But you most of all!'

Rodolphus's wife nodded, biting her lip. 'It's...a shame that...'

Cunegarde poked Linky to get the elf's attention and pointed to a carved chest in a corner, a chest which had not been open in eighty years. 'Fetch them, Linky.'

Linky opened the chest reverently, and took out the two miniatures, swathed in black velvet. Cunegarde extended her hands and the elf set the miniatures in, steadying them.

Rodolphus's wife watched as Cunegarde took the covers off. They'd been done in dragon's bone, in the old style, colour on white on the sleek black bones. The children smiled up from them, eternally young, eternally happy, eternally ignorant of their fates. Cunegarde had not touched them since her daughter's funeral.

She handed them over one at a time, touching the painted faces with her fingers. They were still warm, the bones holding the heat even now, and that, of all of it, was worst, a gruesome reminder of what had been lost, living children to her own stupid pride.

'They were beautiful. Your children.'

Cunegarde reached over, spine howling, and seized the small miniature Rodolphus's wife wore about her neck, jerked roughly until the one of the girl was beside Ermentrude's own.

'Do you see?'

The physical resemblance was slight, but the demeanour was uncannily similar, and Rodolphus's wife's eyes widened. 'That night...'

'It was her bracelet, you know, that Christmas. My own daughter got that for Christmas of...1910. She was just your own girl's age. And reacted alike.'

'This is what is left of my daughter, woman, a painting and regrets.'

The younger woman gently stroked the painted children's faces, one and then the other.

'I'll write that letter tonight.'

'See that you do. And I'll give these to you. For safekeeping.'

'Cunegarde?'

'Woman?'

'I've never you liked you, you foul-tempered old harridan. But Klytemnestra...she had so many boxes of pictures and things. My maid needs something to do anyhow...'

'Don't lower yourself to do something for me, you wretched shrew!'

'I wouldn't!'

Cunegarde looked her in the eye. 'I would like that. The pictures.'

'Hermione, you know, loves you. Can't imagine why.'

'I...she came to me once, you know, when that Bulgarian woman was dying. I have always...she is a credit to us.'

Rodolphus's wife stood up, and extended a hand. Cunegarde took it, feeling the fierce strength there. The two woman, both grieving their daughters, tears in their eyes, looked into one another's hearts and found someone there very like themselves.

In Bulgaria, the person they'd been discussing was girding herself. She dabbed perfume (Osma Pasha had sent her a small ivory and gold bottle of oud, and she liked the foreign-familiar smell of it very much) on her neck and Viktor, who'd been waiting, stood up.

'You're sure about this, Viktor?'

'If you're going, I'm going.'

She didn't argue, but took his hand in hers and kissed the knuckles. Her own hand was shaking quite a bit, but she was almost used to it now. His knuckles had been broken so many times at Quidditch that none quite matched the others, and now they were a little swollen with the coming storm.

Draco joined them. 'He's settled in. It's whenever you're ready.'

Grindelwald had been downstairs for three days. They wanted to keep him waiting, partly to emphasis how things would be and partly to give him time to adjust. Hermione had suggested giving him limited access to parchment and quills. The elves reported he had been writing a fair bit, practicing his signature and making strange but harmless little sketches of houses and animals. After fifty years of total boredom, she imagined drawing a dog or a cottage must have had the intensity of a sexual encounter, an orgy of textures and lines.

The cellar was quiet. Elves guarded it twenty four hours a day, forbidden to speak to Grindelwald or him to them. One of them opened the door, bowing, and there he was.

Grindelwald rose and bowed to Hermione. He had asked for clothes of the sort he remembered, and they gave him the air of an old photo brought to life. The healer (as Yokov had lost a brother to Grindelwald, they had felt it cruel to ask he examine the fellow) had pronounced him startlingly healthy, aside from the loss of most of his teeth and the usual problems associated with being nearly a over a century old.

'Lady Krum, gentlemen. Good day.'

'Herr Doktor Grindelwald. Are you pleased by your new home?'

'Very much so. Tell me, what is the season?'

'Summer.'

'Ah good, good. I'd imagine in my home village, the bees are making honey. My father kept hives.'

The elves brought chairs but the three waited to be asked before they sat.

'Of course, in my day, things were different. The emperor ruled from Vienna to Ukraine.'

'Where are you from originally, sir?'

'Hungary. My father was an Austrian official, sent there by our Ministry to enforce imperial rule. My mother was Hungarian, daughter of the richest man in town.'

He spoke for a while longer about childhood, reminiscing about puppies he'd raised and getting in trouble for climbing a neighbour's tree in order to pelt a girl he'd liked with crab-apples.

'So' he said after a while 'what is this mysterious project?'

Draco pulled out the first of the files that summarised events since May of 1992.

'Dumbledore died by the hand of his own protégé?'

'Professor Snape did it to prevent Gryffindor Tower from being burnt with the children still in.'

'And you say the Dark Lord is still ruling things?'

'He is.'

Grindelwald laughed. 'The little upstart finally made good.'

'You knew him?'

'Of him. He's a Halfblood, did you know that?'

Draco made a sound of shock. 'The Dark Lord?'

'Tom Riddle, he called himself then. His father was a muggle.'

'Where did you learn that?'

'He and I are not the only Dark wizards in Europe, lad. There is-was, likely they're all dead now-a sort of informal network. Some knew both him and myself.'

'What did they say of him?'

Grindelwald smiled. 'Who teaches at Durmstrang now? Is my carving still there?'

When given the list, he made a rude noise. 'Karkaroff was before this Englishman, you say? Bah, Piotr was a brutal maniac. Was the son better?'

'Not a bit.'

Grindelwald bent closer to Viktor, studying him. 'You're very like your grandfather in appearance.'

'My father has said.'

'He was a brave man.'

'You killed him for it.'

'I did. So what happened then? How does the story go from there' they were at the attack on Lestrange House by now 'to here?'

'What does the carving mean, Herr Doktor Grindelwald?'

Grindelwald shook his finger. 'Don't be grabby now, boy.'

Hermione took up the tale, surprised when Viktor added some remarks. Grindelwald seemed pleased by what he was hearing, sometimes interjecting to ask for clarification, sometimes nodding in approval.

When they got to the part about Durmstrang and Draco's raising an army, Grindelwald stopped them. 'He must have loved that, boy. Did he?'

'No' said Draco frankly 'but neither did any of the rest of us, Herr Doktor.'

'Your losses?'

'Four hundred of the thousand who went. That's all three schools.'

'Still, not half bad. I've fought battles with a casualty rate of eighty percent.'

'Your men or the other side?'

'Both, both. I remember, there was this battle in some godforsaken corner of...is there still a Yugoslavia?'

'No, Herr Doktor.'

'Wherever that is now, then. They'd gathered a force to try and stop us making our way through this mountain pass. I think the commander believed himself a latter-day Leonidas. There were these spiky boulders everywhere, and I took them-there were lots-and sent them ahead of men. Like a scythe in a field of wheat. That was their last attempt. You, girl, how did I do it?'

Hermione thought she ought to be feel nonplussed at being asked but wasn't. Before she'd even really thought about, it bubbled into her mind and solidified.

'You lifted the boulders using a Wingardium Leviosa, spun them using Telas Cito, and then a modified Reducto to power them through the ranks without shattering the boulder. That opened a hole in their lines and your men could move in during the chaos that followed.'

Grindelwald threw back his head and laughed. 'Just so! I can feel it in you, you know, even here. It's **strong**. The others can do it, but your magic is...what have you done with it?'

She could sense his eagerness, wanting to hear stories about things he'd missed. She felt filthy, knowing this was stimulating him, and knowing equally that it was necessary to cultivate this man to stop the Horcruxes, to end the Dementors, to save Britain.

She explained about Morreau and how they'd broken him, and then, giving Viktor a pleading look in hopes he'd understand, the firestorm.

Grindelwald raised a brow. 'Most interesting, that last. How did it feel to you?'

'To hurt those people?'

'Kill them, yes, but to wield such power like that.'

'It was...it felt like...'

'Like being reborn. Your energy wasn't sapped, was it, not a bit? You felt alive. Is that so?'

She found herself nodding. 'Yes. There was so much in the air, and it all...'

'It was freeing. That is the essence of Dark magic. Not freedom from, like the other, but freedom to.'

Hermione pinched herself under the table. 'I don't think I'm suited to being a Dark witch.'

Grindelwald snorted. 'And why not? You're so **good** at it.'

Hermione went right to the family quarters after they'd finished and had Kreacher run her a bath, very hot. She stripped off her clothes as though they were strangling her and got in as quickly as she could, scrubbing at her skin.

'Stop it, Mistress.'

'No. No, it's not...no, no.'

Kreacher took the brush. 'Kreacher wants Mistress to sit down.'

She did it. 'He said...he's terrible, Kreacher!'

'Kreacher knows, Mistress. What did he say?'

'He knew how I felt. Grindelwald. It felt jarring.'

Kreacher took the face flannel and wet it down. 'Mistress, do you know what Rinky once said to Kreacher?'

'No, what?'

'Rinky loved Mistress very much. Very, very much. He said he was glad to serve Mistress because Mistress has a good heart. Kreacher remembers Grindelwald the first time. He failed, Mistress. Does Mistress know why, Kreacher thinks?'

'Why?'

'He was evil. The difference is that.'

She rested her head on the stalwart little elf's chest. 'You've seen a lot of evil, Kreacher.'

'Kreacher has, yes.'

'Doesn't it weigh on you?'

Kreacher's gnarled fingers gently touched her hair. 'When it does, Kreacher remembers good things. Master Sirius as a baby, and Master Regulus. Making biscuits with Master Cygnus and Master Orion when they were small. Walks in the park when Master Orion courted the old Mistress.'

'Does it help?'

'Sometimes it does.'

'And when it doesn't?'

'Kreacher is sad for a while.'

She smiled a little despite herself. 'It must be hard to remember so much.'

'It is a mixed blessing. But Kreacher is glad. He is old now, and this is a good place to be, with young people. New life is the antidote to evil, Kreacher thinks.'

Hermione liked that. She smiled up at the elf. 'I think I'll rest and then visit Rada.'

'A very good idea, Mistress.'

There were letters on the bed. Hermione settled in and checked to be sure they were hers before she opened them. There were lots of them. Condolence cards? She ripped open Mother's first.

_**'Girl,**_

_**Snape has told us about Grindelwald. Can't say I approve. On the other hand, I trust your judgement. Just be careful, and write with any questions you might have. We haven't always had the easiest time, but I talked with someone earlier and realised that I don't tell you I love you often enough. **_

_**It would kill your aunt and father and me if something were to happen to any of you. Do what you need to but remember that, won't you? It's bad enough knowing that things I did were part of what caused this current mess. Not trying to make you feel guilty-just wanted you to know I'm are thinking about it, and about you.**_

_**Every day I'm prouder of you, and love you, even if I don't say it enough. Write me if you need me.**_

_**Mother.**_

_**PS-I have found a suspicious quantity of orange fur covering my tippet. Does that wretched flea bag of a cat know why that might be? I'll have two tippets if he does, I can promise you (and him) that.'**_

Hermione touched the letter, suddenly longing for home and Mother. She wished she could be there right now, and touch her family, and feel safe again. The last time she'd felt truly safe was with her muggles, she realised, and that she wanted them both, her muggle and magical parents, and then it hurt again, hurt loads.

Kreacher was beside her before she realised it. 'Mistress?'

She set the letter aside for a moment, glad for it. It seemed to her that humans dance on a knife-edge, good and evil both waiting for us should we fall, and never sure, as we dance, which side it will be we land on.

'Mistress, is everything all right?'

'No' she said, and wiped her eyes. She missed her Rinky, too, the first friend of her new life, who'd helped her and told her stories and given her unconditional love when she'd most needed it.

So many losses, she thought. So much gone now. It hardly seemed possible that it could be that way, but something in Mother's letter had shaken it all loose. Meeting with Grindelwald had frightened her because she didn't know, now, who she might turn into.

She'd always tried so hard to be good, to do right. But something in her was blossoming, dangerous and sweet. She had promised not to fall, but it was always there for her, just behind her eyes, a glimmering presence that tantalised her, taunted her, made her want to reach for it and...

NO! 'It's hard, Kreacher. It's hard.'

'Yes, Mistress. It's hard.'

'Would you hand me my lap desk? I'll write her about it. Mother, I mean.'

'Kreacher thinks that is a good idea.'

'I feel silly, but I...well, I want my mother.'

The elf handed her lap desk over. 'Kreacher thinks most beings sometimes want their mothers.'

'Even you?'

'Even Kreacher. Kreacher's dam was named Pinky. Pinky lived to be 486 years old. Kreacher was her last elfling.'

'Does it hurt too much to talk about her?'

He shook his head. 'No. Pinky would like to help Mistress feel better, even now.'

'And then I'll tell you a story of mine. About my muggles.' It was time now, she thought. She could share them with Kreacher, and when that didn't hurt as much, perhaps she'd tell someone else. It was a start.

Kreacher smiled toothlessly. 'Kreacher would like that very much. Now, Pinky was born in...'


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**This chapter was a kind of rubicon for me. As events in Britain heat up, odds are good that we'll come to be exposed to more of the Dark Lord's hate-filled rhetoric. On the one hand, the interests of artistic honesty demand that we not shrink from even this most terrible thing-just as words can bring out the best in humans, and draw us together, they can also be weapons.**

**On the other hand, I consider this a sort of safe-space, definitely for myself and hopefully for all of you. Many of us know people who have been harmed by similar lines of thinking, and some of us will have been personally harmed. And I'll be damned before anyone who promotes hate gets a second's worth of attention through my actions.**

**It seems to me that the best middle ground is to utilise quotes, but from opponents of this sort of thought. That will permit us to still deal with issues forthrightly, but give credit to people who deserve it (many of whom endured terrible things in order to speak out) rather than those who don't.**

**Pavel's asterix'd remarks are quotes from Dietrich Bonhoffer, a noted theologian and anti-Nazi who was ultimately executed for refusing to stop speaking out. **

**NB: 'Herr Doktor' is the German title for a Ph.D. My laptop ate part of the sentence from the last chapter.**

Metellus Travers was having rather a bad day. He'd returned to Britain in the middle of the night only to find out Rita's visa had been extended due to her aunt's failing health, leaving him to an empty flat and his own cold, rather dry hand where he'd anticipated having a nice roger and a warm woman in his bed after.

Then, after a night of very little sleep, he'd been roused from bed at dawn by that damned elf, who came in to announce that the hot water heating charms had died during the night, meaning he had to redo them until an expert could come, which made him both late to work and maddeningly sure he smelt bad, as he'd had no time to shower, having fiddled with the charms too long.

On arriving at the Ministry, he'd dumped coffee ( extremely hot coffee) in his lap, and suffered the terrible indignity of needing to take a trip to St. Mungo's to tell an apprentice healer young enough to be his daughter precisely where the coffee had burnt him. She proscribed him an ointment, and suggested that he avoid touching the burnt area for the next week or so, thus cutting off his sole avenue of release for that amount of time.

Having had to sneak into a WC in order to apply the cream to himself in peace, he made it most of the way back to the office before he heard Jugson calling his name. He turned, painfully aware of having blisters in places blisters should not be, and limped over.

'Mamercus?'

'Walden wants to see you.'

'Oh, does he? Good! Very good! What is it? Does he want me to go and visit the centaurs dressed as a werewolf? Or perhaps he'd like me to stand in the middle of a field during a thunderstorm and hold a lightning rod over my head?'

'Metellus?'

'I have had a bloody terrible day! Nothing, nothing has gone right, and something tells the Universe is not done. I am just waiting for the next bad thing to befall me, and do you know the worst part, Merc?'

'I, er-'

'I have to have a wee, and I can't even touch my own cock to do it!'

Mamercus nodded slowly. 'I see. Er, Wilkes is, ah, I need to-' He turned tail and bustled off, head down. Travers groaned and made his way to see Walden Mcnair, feeling as though his day couldn't get any worse.

His day promptly got worse. Walden Mcnair was sympathetic to his plight, having recently got a sensitive injury himself.

'Twice' the man said morosely, sitting back in his chair. 'In five seconds. Twice.'

'I've always thought she looked like she has sharp knees.'

'She does. Anyway, it should be easy. Just give the boy his orders and talk to him a bit. Test his ideology, that sort of thing.'

'All right, Walden.'

'It'll be fun, Metellus. Practically an afternoon off.'

Hoping to catch the Malfoys unawares, he opted not announce himself, and spent ten minutes arguing with a very fresh elf called Minky about whether he could come in or not.

Once he'd finally breached the foyer, he found the three Malfoys sitting in a parlour, doing distinctly un-traitorous things, in that the boy was reading a book and the parents were looking at baby pictures of him, laughing a little.

'-ink was everywhere, do you remember?'

'I do. Draco, do you re-Metellus, what an unexpected appearance. How are you?'

'Fine, Lucius, fine. Narcissa, you look lovely. Draco, how are you, lad?'

'Fine, sir. Eager for my next assignment.' He did indeed have a look of intensity that was quite reminiscent of his aunt at her most likely to hex and shriek. Travers instinctively shielded his vulnerable parts by hunching a bit and handed over the folder.

'From His Lordship directly, boy. I'll need to take it with me, of course.'

The boy scanned the files, nodding. 'All right. I can do all of this.'

'It's very important they not tell the Bulgarians, do you see? We've every reason to think they're fomenting revolt against our rule. Britain is depending on your discretion.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good, good. Now, what have you been doing with yourself, hmm?'

'Studying, Mr. Travers.'

'Studying what?'

'I want to refine my understanding of the Dark Lord's ideology, sir.'

Could this be some kind of ploy? Could he, Metellus Travers, have finally made some sort of discovery?

If he could show the boy's ideology was insufficient, then perhaps it would only be a small step to proving he'd been up to...something, anyhow. Travers leant forward, thinking he smelt blood.

'What particularly do you struggle with?'

'It's not so much struggling as it is wanting a deeper understanding. I've been reading quite intensively, especially the Letters.'

'And what do you find?'

'Action springs not from thought, but from a readiness for responsibility*.'

'Quite. How do you see fit to apply it to your situation?'

'I am fully committed to taking responsibility for helping to save our people.'

'Save them from what?'

'The corrupting influences that wish to force us to serve them.'

'Impressive. Influences like what?'

'Foreign potentates, corrupt and savage subhumans, and bad ideology in our midst.'

So far...top notch, unfortunately. Travers frowned, his need to urinate growing by the minute, the cup of suffering at least having cooled enough to not be a threat. He thought.

'So where does that leave your Bulgarian friend, then?'

'Will our inward power of resistance be strong enough, and our honesty with ourselves remorseless enough, for us to find our way back to simplicity and straightforwardness?*'

Travers' day was getting worse and not better. The Malfoy lad's ideology was flawless, better than most people three times his age. And the boy himself had a creepy intensity that was sort of unnerving, even as the kid grinned at him.

'Excellent, Draco. You must be very proud, Lucius, Narcissa.'

'Yes' said Lucius, with that vaguely superior lift of his brows 'we are.'

'And what do you hope to do, Draco, with your knowledge?'

'Serve the Dark Lord, sir.'

'Well yes, of course. But what specifically?'

'Whatever the Dark Lord commands, sir.'

'No particular thoughts? No will to one thing or the other?'

The Malfoy lad looked affronted. 'It's enough for me to know that I am His subject, Mr. Travers. Whatever He decides is best.'

It was at this point an elf appeared just behind Travers's head. 'Ridgey found one, Master.'

'You certainly did, Ridgey, and quite a large one.'

Travers turned his head and then leapt up. 'Oh, God!'

The cup of impending doom went flying. Fortunately it was cool enough that he didn't need to add a burnt face to the rest of his woes, but no so cool that it didn't feel more or less piss temperature as it soaked his shirt, ruining the linen, which was white.

He back peddled, trying to put distance between himself and the adder clutched in the elf's grimy hand. Unfortunately, he also hadn't seen the ottoman, and sent himself sprawling onto his arse, and managing to crush the burnt parts of himself quite effectively as well.

'FUCK!' He cried, having literally the worst day he could remember, and then the shite really starting to rain down on him. Narcissa clutched her throat, looking overcome, and the boy jumped to her side, embracing her.

'Darling, I'm fine. I just...oh, oh, where are my smelling salts?'

'How dare you, sir, use that word in front of my wife?'

'I didn't mean-oh, shite! Shite!' In the commotion, the elf had dropped the snake, who was coming toward him, beady eyes gleaming, mouth opened to show fangs dripping with poison.

'Again you insult us!'

'I never meant to-oh!' It was slithering closer, hissing dangerously, and struck at his leg. He yowled, and then Lucius, who was a head taller, was hauling him up by the scruff of his neck.

'Perhaps, Travers, you could come back at another time?'

He nodded, hurrying toward the Floo. The Ministry would a blessed relief after this insanity, he thought, throwing in a huge handful of Floo powder and calling his destination, glad to be a shut of these maniacs.

He met Walden Mcnair coming from the Floo. 'Well, Metellus, how did it go?'

Travers shook his head helplessly. 'Everything terrible happens to me.'

'What?'

He shook his head again. 'I'm taking the rest of the day.'

Mcnair said nothing, just stood aside and let him go.

The carriages took the skies, and beside Alise her husband was silent. She slid her hand into his and he smiled a little, mind on something else completely. They'd be departing for Durmstrang in two days' time, enough for food and sleep and a bit of time together before the whole round of diplomacy started again.

'Lem? Are you all right?'

Lem nodded. 'Glad t sees the back a Morreau, I am.'

'Me, too. Think he'll behave?'

'Shure as e will. I picked those wolves meself. Second e puts a toe out a line...' He smiled a little, clearly anticipating that day with some joy.

'His wife is nice.'

'Seems it. Ow'd she ends up with a fella like im?'

'She said he's changed quite a bit since he became Minister.'

'Appens, that does.' He gently released her hand and went to do his duty, and she to hers.

Unusually, she got back to the flat later than he. English class had run over, and then she'd taken a walk with Hermione, chatting about nothing and everything for a half an hour. Her friend was strained and quiet, seemingly lost in her contemplations.

Lem was sitting on the divan, book open in front of him, lips moving as he read. She'd noticed him reading quite a bit lately, sometimes jotting down a question or comment in a small notebook. She hadn't asked-when he was ready, he'd say.

'There you are, then. Thought you'd run off with Arco.'

'He wasn't about.'

Lem grinned and closed his book. 'Everythin all rite?'

'Fine. Slughorn got rambling again.'

'E's terri'ble bad that way, aint e?'

She sat down next to him. 'Are all English teachers this longwinded?'

'Naw. Snape, now, e ardly sed a word. Just wrote it all down and left us t'it.'

'Is he as strict as he seems?'

'Worse, if you was naugh'y in is class. Cud sneaks up be'ind a person and whacks em about the ead so quick it were like e was a ghost.'

'Are teachers allowed to do that?' She tried to picture one of her own professors doing such a thing and failed utterly.

'You gunna be the one tells Sev'rus Snape he aint allowed, girl?'

She laughed and leant against him. 'Were you bad a lot?'

'Every time I thoughts I cud gets away with it.'

'So every day?'

'Not every day. Mebbe...shush, now.'

He poked her in the side, looking sulky, and she laughed harder, poking back. He set his book aside and they started to wrestle. For a small, slight man, Lem was strong, but so was she, and they were more evenly matched than one would expect. Still, she lost, and ended pinned beneath him, giggling and trying to squirm out from under him.

'S'what I thoughts, then.'

He made no move to rise, simply looking down at her, eyes twinkling. 'Get out from under me.'

She reached up to peck his cheek and then brought her knee up, hard, trying to hit him in the back. He felt it and deftly moved to avoid her blow, gently taking her knee and folding it back, pressing lightly to make her feel the stretch in her thighs.

She used the leverage to get him in the stomach, shoving herself back at the same time. She was on her feet a second later, wand drawn. Lem sat up, hands raised, and beamed.

'Gud girl!'

She helped him up, wand still trained on him in case this was a ploy. He laughed, still clutching his ribs.

'I didn't hurt you?'

'Naw.' He suddenly grinned, shaking his head. 'That does sound sum familiar, though.'

'How do you mean?'

'You never eard the story bout Flower when she was lil?'

Alise had, but never from the other side. He told her as they called a cautious truce and settled into bed for the night.

'An so the next time she saw me, she asks me that same thin. Kin you even magine?'

Alise couldn't. 'She's always seemed very mature. It's hard to picture.'

'It were a ard time fer us all. We all dun thins we aint s'pose to. Lookin back, I wud a been more careful if I ad known she was bout. Makin shure she dint see nothin bad, I means.'

'It's all over now.'

'Is it?' His arms went behind his head. 'We're gunna go n see them exiles.'

'Do you feel all right about it?'

'Naw.'

'No?'

'Why shud I? The more I talks to Pavel, the more I sees the thins they did aint rite. Now mind you, I aint sayin as what I dids was rite, but seems t me as mebbe sum of these people might've elped and dint.'

She snuggled closer. 'Helped how?'

'You know Slug'orn is a pervert, yeah?'

'I do.'

'Why dint none a em ever puts a stop t it? I asks you, girl, oo lets that appen and does nuthin. Least what I dun, I dun fer food an a place to live. You think they give me a second chance? They aint.'

She touched his face, trying to soothe him. He kissed her palm, seemingly still brooding, a most un-Lem like state.

'The teachers knew about his tastes?'

'They knew. Ell, I knew, and I werent is student. What's that tells you bout what the others must a known bout it?'

'Your headmaster did nothing?'

'Dumbledore? E act all nice, but e aint care bout nothing. E ad is favourites, and the rest a us cud go screw, fer all a im.'

She wished she'd known this before. 'I'm so sorry that happened.'

'S'm I. Tells you what, I wents to that bitch nurse one time t shows er sum bruises me Da give me, and she dint do nuthin. She put sumthin on to fix em, but she never tell the aurors or ooever. You thin, if I sees bruises on a kid ere, I'd lets it go?'

'No' she said immediately 'I don't.'

'Damned rite as I wudn't. Aint rite. Doan wants none a you round people like that. If I'd ad a gud family an the rite accent an a Da oo dint shov'l adder scales all day, you thinks they'd a sed sumthin?'

Alise's eyes prickled. 'Lem, that's terrible.'

'Ush, girl. Werent nuthin you dun, nor anyone else ere. But you knows, I'm a bad bloke. I dun bad thins, and I'm gud at em. Lestrange dun sum bad thins, and is bruther, and Malfoy Sr, and all the rest. But by God if you asks em, they cops to it. And I aint never seen em ignore sumone urtin a lil person cant protect themselves. These cunts-sorry-in Roman'ia, swannin round like they aint never dun nuthin wrong, oo the fuck're they?'

She was startled to see there were tears in his eyes. She nestled closer, and his arms went round her tightly, stroking her hair. In his cage, Pip trilled a few worried notes and flapped, agitated by the commotion.

'I doan wants none a you goin. All that's gunna appen is they'll come an twist everyone bout, and make poor Flower sad, and let us do their dyin to take Britain back, and fer what? S'not like they'll make it better fer anyone but themselves.'

Neither had the Dark Lord, she wanted to point out, but decided another time might be better. Lem was clearly hurting, and she wanted to help him feel better.

'We needn't go there if you don't want to.'

'Britain? I'd jus as soon stay when things're over. Britains got nuthin fer me now. You mind?'

'I want to stay too.'

Their children, Halfbloods as they would be, would have a place here, a good place. It was a new Europe, a better Europe, and they could help with that, make a world better than the one they'd inherited from the generation they were going to meet at Durmstrang.

'That's fer the gud, then.'

'Lem?'

'Mmm?'

'You needn't go. Nicolae is going, and Eugen.'

'No, I'm goin. Be damned if I lets them fuckers-sorry-upset any a you.'

'Why not tell them, if you get a chance? Hermione would be the first one to encourage you, and Viktor too.'

'Me? Naw, they'd not lissen to sumone like me. I cant talk gud, and they'd think I was sayin nonsense.'

'Of course they won't. The Lord Protector of Bulgaria takes you seriously, and Hermione counts you a friend. If they listen, these teachers will have to.'

'Arthur Weasley's Minister n exile, now.'

'If he's any sort of Minister, he'll listen to his people, no matter who they are. If he doesn't, he isn't Minister at all.'

He touched her face. 'You takin lessons from Flower, now?'

'I mean it, Lem. They've done nothing but hurt people I love for years, and it ends now.'

'Mebbe we shud sends you girls. They'll gives in rite quick.'

She nodded. 'I'd do it.'

'I knows. Least now I kind read better. I doan wants our kids t talks like me.'

'You talk just fine.'

'Never ear a quality person sounds like me.'

'Any person rude enough to remark isn't quality.'

He kissed her gently on the lips. 'I'm lucky you married me, you knows that?'

They curled up together and slept deeply, knowing they were together against the whole world.

Several countries away, Nicolae Pavel was having the extremely awkward experience of bidding farewell to people who weren't his parents. Lucius Malfoy stepped back from the embrace under the watchful eye of a handsome-ish bloke called Avery, clapping his-Malfoy Jr's-bony shoulder.

'Be careful, Draco.'

'Yes, sir. Mother?'

Narcissa handed him a small packet. 'Some of those sweets you like. Wear your woollens if it should get cold.'

'Yes, Mother.'

She hugged him as well, smelling of floral perfume and face powder and the indefinable smell of a Mum. He missed his own parents, especially his mother, very much, and he hugged her back sincerely, glad his own family was safe in Bucharest, thinking he worked for a surveying team and not as a spy.

Avery cleared his throat. 'Young Malfoy?'

Avery himself smelt objectionably bureaucratic and acrid, and like some sort of awful perfume, and the smell of a woman's sweat. Whoever the woman was, he didn't want to meet her, if her thin and sneering smell was anything to go by.

'I'm ready when you are, sir.'

Avery never saw Bellatrix Lestrange, hidden behind a portiere. She calmly stunned him, and sent the elf for Snape and Black. The men came immediately.

'Mippy will Polyjuice as me. Black, are you ready?'

'I am.'

He downed the phial and transformed in Avery. Snape's lip curled.

'You still look a berk.'

'Makes two of us, then.'

Black nodded to him, and Snape called his elf. The Portkey was only supposed to transport two-three might flag the system.

The Malfoys waved a final time and then the three were off to Macedonia, and from there to Bulgaria.

Himself again, Pavel walked down the corridors of the Ministry, smelling everything. Costin Galca had greeted him, smelling of liquor and the mint he chewed to hide it.

Lately there was a sour, bile-ish trace about him which suggested his liver, compromised by forty years of near constant drunkenness, might finally be protesting. Pavel hoped not-Costin was a good fellow, and an excellent forger. He had often relied on him for papers to get in and out of countries.

'How is it going, Costin?'

'Quiet, Nicolae.'

'Are Eugen and Sandru back?'

'Last night. They rooted those sons of bitches out in record time.' Costin growled approvingly and Pavel joined him, pleased to know it had gone nicely.

The dogs had come with Costin and they clustered about him, sniffing, wagging. He dropped down and they investigated him thoroughly, lapping his cheeks.

'Pavel?'

'Hello, Mr. Malfoy.'

Malfoy Jr, wearing the face he'd just shed, had a bruise on his face. It was very dark on his skin, and under his hair. He smelt all human, at least-having young Malfoy join the pack was the last thing Pavel needed, for all he'd have made a very good wolf, with training.

'How are my parents?'

'Well, and sent you a parcel.' He handed over the sweets and Malfoy pocketed them.

'And more orders from the Dark Lord?'

'Indeed. Lord Paramount Krum has got them at the moment.'

Malfoy raked a hand through his hair. 'I was napping. Was it all right in England?'

Pavel considered. 'I didn't see enough to say for certain. It does seem the Ministry's tracking your parents.'

'We knew they would.'

'And your mother's got a new friend.'

'A new friend?'

Pavel explained about Travers and the little adder who followed Narcissa everywhere. Malfoy chuckled, shaking his head.

'You know, I've always thought Mother an exemplary lady, but for the first time, I'm worried she might have rather more of a claim on nonchalance than I.'

Pavel laughed softly. 'I've had that same experience. My mother drives a motorcycle.'

'A what?'

'One of those muggle vehicles with the two wheels.'

'Really? Your father isn't worried about her?'

'They're divorced.'

'What?'

Pavel considered explaining but shook his head instead. 'We're meeting the exiles day after tomorrow.'

'Quite. I knew some of them, slightly, when I was younger.'

'Oh?'

Malfoy nodded. 'It's going to be awkward, Pavel. Godfather and Sirius are going a day early to brief them about our situation in Britain.'

Pavel suspected the agenda was more than that, but he wasn't about to say it. He liked young Malfoy, and even if he hadn't, he had a good thing here.

'If you don't mind my asking, Mr. Malfoy, do you envision returning to Britain someday? Full time, I mean?'

'Britain will need people to help rebuild, but whether I myself am one... What about you?'

Pavel looked round. He had a small flat in the Ministry, a position as alpha of the pack, a woman he liked and who liked him. He loved Romania, but what did he have there?

'Bulgaria is a very good place to be a werewolf. My men are happy here, and our people can thrive. And I enjoy the thought of being part of this new Europe.'

'Do you miss your country?'

'Some of it. My parents, of course, and the usual things. Music, food, books. My own brand of toothpaste. You?'

'The family, and Malfoy Manor. We've a gallery of the ancestral portraits, I miss my grandparents and ancestors. Hogwarts, a bit. I don't remember it like I did.'

Pavel nodded. 'I've always heard good things about Hogwarts.'

'It was...at eleven, it all seemed very impressive. Then one morning I woke and the Dark Lord had come. That was the beginning of the end of Britain for me.'

Pavel could empathise with that. 'That's how I feel about Romania.'

'It's sour for you.'

'It is now. We did horrible things, Mr. Malfoy, for our country. And then when we ceased to be of use...'

'That sounds familiar.'

It must have been a terrible shock to them, the moment they'd understood the Dark Lord had done with them and was, with the clearest possible conscience, casting them hence from himself.

Pavel said as much, surprised when Malfoy shook his head. 'It was worse after the Ministry, at least for me. The British one, I mean.'

'For whatever it's worth to you, I regret deeply you were there that night, and your cousins, and so do the others.'

'Thank you.' Malfoy shook his head, presumably thinking about that battle.

'What about you? How was it for you that night?'

Pavel motioned to a bench. 'Shall we?'

They did. Pavel suspected the Malfoy lad would understand how hard it was to describe the battle feelings, leading men, fighting, the sounds and stenches of combat.

Still, he would try. He did the best he could, and Malfoy said nothing, just nodded. He looked much older than fifteen, much older than Pavel, an old man, weary and jaded.

'So when it's done, Pavel, what will you do? Will you keep fighting?'

'I'll fight as long as Bulgaria has enemies. Violence is quite a stable trade, I find.'

Malfoy threw back his head and laughed. 'Precisely.'

'And yourself, Mr. Malfoy?'

He stopped laughing. 'Help them rule. Like you've said, violence is a very stable trade.'

His scent didn't smell teenaged, either. At the basest level, of course, he smelt like most other boys that age, but the deeper scent, the true scent, was a deeper, harder trace, a predator spoor.

'Are you nervous about them, Malfoy? The exiles?'

Malfoy smiled. His smell was stronger. 'I'm looking forward to it.'

So was Pavel. Two predators, they spoke at some length.


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**pamelawright brought up an interesting point last chapter, to wit (and paraphrase, as I don't wish to use someone else's words without permission): Does the Order retain the characteristics that made them sympathetic in canon? **

** Well, I would say the answer is 'yes and no'. Individually, most of them are as close to canon as I could get them within the framework of the story. So most of them are pretty much decent folks, with a sprinkling of the usual jerks one gets in any group. **

** The difference, though, is that in canon, we're seeing them from a very sympathetic POV. Here, we're seeing the same people from the opposite side, so where Harry tended to focus on the positive, we're dealing with people who are looking for the negative in the Order and sometimes finding it. **

**I tend to see both perspectives as pretty sympathetic and comprehensible. The Order hasn't had an easy time of it, but to people who have fought one incredibly bloody war after another, things look very different. Alternately, the Order doesn't know the context of the things happening in Bulgaria, so the idea of dealing with what seems to be two underage warlords and their cadre of teenage killers is pretty daunting.**

**Also: Today in Memorial Day in the US. To those of you who have served, or whose loved ones have or are serving, thank you. This chapter is dedicated to your sacrifices.**

The man wasn't sure who he was. Like a moth burrowing out of a cocoon, he was in betwixt and between. He thought, possibly, he was Alastor Moody again, but only for tonight.

Beside him, a man who was definitely Sirius Black was chewing his thumbnail with a half-sullen, half-nervous expression. Another one, who couldn't be anyone but Severus Snape, leant over and briskly thumped the back of Sirius's head.

'Honestly, Black, that's repulsive.'

'Fuck you.'

'If I'd known you were going to take on like this over Arthur Weasley and a few others, I'd have brought someone else.'

'Like who?'

Snape glowered and said nothing, meaning he had no answer. The first man, who seemed more like Moody by the second, shook his head. Boys will be boys, the gesture said, and he was gratified to see that Sirius, at least, stopped attacking his fingernails and stared at the sky.

'Dog? If you've got this much energy to be annoying with, why don't you make yourself useful and check the borders?'

Sirius transformed and took off at a run, head down. Moody (yes, he decided, he was Alastor Stephen Moody) darted his eyes to Snape, who was standing still as a rock, apparently finding a place of calm before the storm broke.

'That was kind of you.'

'Kind?'

It sounded like a curse from his mouth. Moody nodded, knowing it was not Snape's style to attribute good to himself.

'Sirius is a good boy, but a bit reckless.'

'He's a flash bastard, but not as relentlessly terrible as in the past.'

Moody smothered a grin, knowing the weird friendship between the two younger men was one of the deepest he'd ever seen, and that neither would admit such a thing for all the money in the world.

'You've got Em's memories?'

'I do, and Shacklebolt's as well. Will that sway them? You knew Dumbledore's set far better than I.'

Moody considered. 'Arthur Weasley is a fair man, Snape. Not as hasty as most of the others, nor as sure of his own virtue.'

'Who will be a problem, do you expect?'

'Augusta Longbottom' he said at once. 'She's a very worthy woman, but those losses embittered her.'

'What about Molly Weasley? I only really knew her in passing.'

'She's much like Arthur. Very devoted to him and the little ones. You'd know more about them than I.'

'The children, yes. Ronald Weasley was Madam Krum's best friend.'

'And Potter.'

'The three of them. She was the brains of that operation, I can assure you.'

There was a small dot in the sky, coming closer. There they are, then.'

'Summon me when the time is right.'

Snape strode into the gathering twilight and Moody watched as the carriage came closer, feeling none of the excitement he'd thought he'd feel, feeling only a terrible tiredness and wishing it were not so.

It was after dinner, the longest dinner of his life. The Order members rose at his suggestion and withdrew to his own private quarters for drinks and discussion. The Romanians would arrive tomorrow, so for tonight, it was just these few people. Not even all of the Order, as a few had stayed in Romania, to accompany Minister Vulpes tomorrow. Still, it was the hardest crowd Moody had ever tried to play to.

He gave the elves a nod and they closed the locked the doors. Wands had been taken at the outset. He was unarmed, but so were they. Snape, hidden under the cloak was not, nor Sirius. That would have to be enough.

They sensed the change. Most of them leapt up, reaching for air rather than wands, faces shocked and angry.

'It's a trap!'

'You traitorous bastard, Feathering!'

'SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP. THIS IS NOT A TRAP.' Moody magnified his voice, and that startled them for a moment. It was enough, and Snape seized the day, stepping from under the cloak, leaving Sirius covered.

'Good evening, everyone.'

'Bastard!'

'Shut up, Bagman. I am not here as a Death Eater. I am here on behalf of those who'd bring down the Dark Lord, and who want your help. In return, I bring you a gift of some worth.'

Ted Tonks pointed at Snape. 'You Janus-faced bastard, I don't trust you any farther than I can throw a piano.'

'No one has ever accused you of being an intellect, Tonks.'

Arthur Weasley held up a hand. 'This bickering won't help. Are you prepared to submit to Veritaserum, Snape?'

'I am prepared to provide proof of all I say, and more. And something special for some amongst you. Is that Lupin I see?'

Remus nodded slowly. 'It is I, yes.'

'I bring you the true betrayer of the Potters.'

'Sirius Black is dead.'

'Sirius Black did not betray them.'

'Of course he did.'

'When the Bulgarians come, I will prove it all. Dog, reveal yourself.'

Sirius did. The assembled people stared. 'Sirius? Sirius Black? You're-'

'No, obviously I'm not.'

Remus stood, wavering. 'My God. My God, what...what is this?'

'Peter was their Secret-Keeper. Not me. We traded, because I was the likelier target to be seized and tortured. We were all illegal animagi. You knew that, Remus!'

'Yes. I did know, I...my God.'

Remus was coming toward him, and Sirius raised his wand. 'No.'

'No? Sirius, it's been...'

'Fourteen years, ten of them in Azkaban. You let them send me to Azkaban, Remus. I'm rather annoyed at you, to say the least.'

'It wasn't like that! We didn't-'

'Later. Right now, let Snape talk.' Fortunately, they did.

When the story was told, the room was filled with murmurs. Beside Arthur, Molly was sniffling quietly into a handkerchief. Minerva McGonagall was sitting po-faced, hands squeezed together so tightly the knuckles were white, and Hagrid was outright weeping, tears rolling down his face to splash into his beard.

'Quite a story, Snape. You said you've proof for us to verify all this?' Arthur, looking like he'd aged ten years since the night began.

Snape pulled out the first of the jars. 'I have been deceptive on a few major points, which I will now clarify. Send your elf for Veritaserum, if you'd please.'

When it arrived he handed it to Moody. 'Would you?'

The Order watched, clearly uneasy, as he did. The world came into sharper focus, his brain feeling like it was moving faster and harder. He touched his brow, sensing he'd have a headache later. Snape cleared his throat and spoke.

'Who are you?'

'Alastor Stephen Moody.'

'What?'

Moody nodded solemnly. 'I was the one who helped take the Lestrange girl. Kingsley delivered her himself-you were there when we got the Firecall, Ludo-and Emmeline dropped her off with the Grangers.'

'You sent us the baby clothes to use, Molly, remember? A gown trimmed in dark pink ribbons and a matching cap. They were too small for Ginevra, you said.'

Molly Weasley's hand flew to her throat. 'Yes. I remember that.'

'Everything Snape said is true. The Inner Circle has flipped and wants to ally with us. They don't want to follow the Dark Lord anymore.'

'Suppose' said Ted Tonks seriously 'that that is true. Does that mean we're obliged to ally with them?'

'How do you mean, Ted?'

'These people are monsters. I'm sorry about what happened to the children, I really am, but the fact they love their kids doesn't make it right for us to throw in with them. If he'd kept his end of the bargain, they'd still be trying to wipe us out.'

Augusta Longbottom was nodding. 'Exactly so. Just because Sirius happens to have had some good experiences with them doesn't justify letting them join us in this.'

Snape made a low harsh sound. 'Why let something as meaningless as survival factor in when self-righteousness is so much quicker and easier, Augusta, isn't it?'

She stood. 'You dare speak to me, you murdering opportunist? You didn't hesitate to kill Albus when the Dark Lord asked you, not for a second.'

'For which you owe me Neville's life. If I had not, he'd have burnt the Tower to the ground. Perhaps you might have preferred that. Something else to play the martyr about.'

Her face was scarlet. 'You-you!'

'Me, Augusta. If you want to play who can be cruellest, we will. If you'd rather actually make something happen, then by all means, sit down.'

'Augusta does have a point, Snape. Some of your methods are frankly appalling. I'm not sure I would trust you to-'

Sirius had sat through the whole thing, stroking James Potter's cloak like a child with a blanket. He stood up now, setting the cloak aside, face thundery, very unlike the usual cheery, playful Sirius.

'Shut up, Arthur. All of you, shut up. Here you are, safe with your diplomatic immunity, and doing what, exactly, to fix things? Snape is a ruthless cunt, I'll give you that. My cousins are fanatics and murderers and everything else, I'll give you that too. But by God, they've got the stones to back up what they say.'

'Sirius, I-'

'Where the fuck were any of you in all this? Drinking tea in Romania, moaning about the old days and how it'll be once you got go to home. Snape was actually doing things to make that happen for you ungrateful bastards, and now you have the gall to question how you did it?'

Arthur was pale. 'Sirius, I didn't mean that. What I meant was-'

'That we're good enough to do what you haven't the stomach for, but not to meet you as equals? Really, Arthur, tell me what any of you have done that was half so successful as any one of Snape's plans.'

'Those people have committed terrible atrocities.'

'So has everyone here. Did you protest when Crouch Sr. approved of Unforgivables, Arthur? Did you, Molly? Ted? Remus? Ludo?'

'It wasn't-'

'They weren't shooting to kill at first, but we were. Just like we left our dying friends to pursue them, even as they were fleeing. We did our share, and don't you dare look me in the face and say we didn't.'

'Sirius, calm down.'

'Fuck that. And another thing-who amongst you ever tried, even once, to clear my name? Or save Alastor or Emmeline or Kingsley? Any of you?'

No one answered. 'These people were supposedly your friends. How the hell do you people live with yourselves? My cousins might be Death Eaters, but at least they give a fuck about people they claim to love. Draco was fourteen goddamned years old and he raised an army in an hour! You've had four years and done precisely fuck-all! Maybe, just maybe, it's time to get off the high hippogryffs and listen to someone who's actually got a shot in hell of succeeding in making this work!'

He was breathing hard, shaking with rage. Snape looked at him and nodded a single time. Sirius almost didn't register it. Kreacher made himself visible in order to stand at his elbow, shirring softly.

'That's easy for you say, Sirius. Who have you lost?'

Sirius rounded on Augusta. 'Yes, it's been a real holiday, fighting one war after another, hasn't it? Wait, you wouldn't know. You've been safe in Romania this whole time.'

'My son-'

'It was a tragedy, Augusta. I'm not saying it wasn't.'

'You're damned right it was! Have you had to explain things to Neville?'

'No. I get to help explain why Hermione got taken from her family, and now tell the kids why they get to help fight a series of wars they didn't start and don't want any part of. That's a real walk in the damned park, I tell you.'

'Don't give me that. That girl is a monster, everyone knows-'

Snape's face tightened. 'Mind your tongue, Augusta. That is my godchild you speak of, and Malfoy Jr as well.'

'Were you the one who taught her to cook those poor people alive like roast geese, Snape? Some godfather you are, training them as your own private army. What kind of parent lets a child do that?'

Sirius's face changed subtly, and Moody instinctively leant forward to grab his collar, giving him a shake to bring him back to himself. Sirius pulled away, collar ripping.

'You really don't get this, do you? Those kids are your sole chance to go home. If you ever see England again, it will be because they had the courage to fight where you cut and run. If their time hasn't been as clean as yours, it's because they were actually doing something. War's not clean.'

Snape had recovered. 'Your grandson was in my class, Augusta, if you'll recall. You love Neville so much you'd quite broken his spirit. Perhaps you and Bellatrix have something to discuss after all. Except that she didn't do that to her own child, so...'

'Snape, that is hardly a fair-'

'Stay out of this, Lupin.'

'She loves the girl? Like she loved Andromeda so much she drove her from the family?'

'Yes, obviously of all the people here, you have been victimised the worst, Tonks. Would anyone like to complain about their childhood? Perhaps someone once made a rude remark to one of you as they passed you in the street?'

Moody-Feathering held up a hand. 'Augusta, sit down. Sirius, you as well. Remus, mind your own affaires.'

'Alastor, we-'

'I said be quiet. Snape is quite right. Ugly though much of it has been, his plan is working. I have every faith that it will succeed. If you want to return home to Britain, this is by far your best chance to do it.'

'Alastor, what would Albus say?' Minerva, eyes wet.

'He would want us to think about what was best for everyone. The Dark Lord is preparing to loose an army of Dementors on Europe. The Bulgarians are willing to fight. If you won't join them, then you don't deserve to go home.'

'The Romanians won't help you. Unless you're a werewolf. Then they'll employ you until you've outlived your usefulness to them and discard you like trash.' Sirius looked right at Remus as he said it. Remus flushed.

'How did you justify that one to yourself, Remus? Was it different because none of those people are you?'

'Sirius, it wasn't like that.'

'You should tell Pavel that when he asks you. He's coming tomorrow.'

'That was Romania's decision, not ours. We had nothing to do with that.'

'Did you protest it? Did you protest sending an illegal guerilla force at all, Arthur? It's not like you didn't know, was it?'

'I...'

'For people who value what's right, you all seem to have quite a loose definition of that where it doesn't apply to you directly. Tell me, Lupin, what have you done to improve the lot of those poor sods in Wales?'

Remus shook his head. 'Snape, I assure you that if I'd thought for a moment I could help them somehow, I would do it.'

'Like fighting with Pavel's men? You could have signed up. Didn't, but could have. Where was your sense of integrity then, Lupin?'

Remus dropped his head. Arthur had apparently found his voice, because he cleared his throat.

'None of that detracts from the thrust of our argument, Snape. I acknowledge you've made many valid points, but for us to agree with all this, we would need to seriously consider your evidence.'

'Shall we leave you to your contemplations, then?'

'Please.'

The two young men withdrew, and Moody called for coffee for them all.

Minerva leant over. 'Alastor, it is really you?'

'When you were thirteen, Minnie, I caught you kissing Derrick Smythe by the troll tapestry. You got five points off and I threatened to write your father if I ever found you doing such a thing again.'

Minerva went ever so slightly pink. 'Alastor, it is you.'

'Quite.'

'Emmeline is really married to Rabastan Lestrange?'

'Yes. They've a young son together, my nephew Edric.' An elf brought his picture album and he opened it to the one of Eugenia and Edric. Both of them were laughing, and as the group watched, Edric reached for someone out of the frame, giggling with excitement. His little mouth moved. 'Da, Da'.

'I thought Rabastan doesn't...'

'The Dark Lord ordered it.'

'And Emmeline agreed?'

'We needed a spy in Sofia.'

Molly shook her head. 'Poor Emmeline. Is he awful to her?'

'Not at all. They're quite fond of one another, I think. And Edric. He's the centre of both their worlds.'

'How terrible to have to send him away.'

Augusta touched the picture too. 'He's a beautiful baby.'

'Clever, too.'

'How could you do it, Alastor? You know what these people did! Emmeline knows what they did!' Augusta's chin was trembling, and he could tell she was trying not to weep. Hagrid blew his nose, sounding like a foghorn, and nodded.

'Because Sirius is right, Augusta. We could have stopped any number of things and didn't. Now it's our obligation to finish what we started.'

'I never tried to bring the Dark Lord back!'

'No, but you supported the things the Ministry did, even as I did.'

'How were we to know?'

'How were any of us? The fact a thing seems like the right choice doesn't make it so. I loved Albus but he did some terrible things.'

'If you think to compare Albus to that maniac-'

'I never said that, Minerva.'

'And my son? Neville's mother? What of them, Alastor? Do we pretend that never happened? Perhaps I'll invite the Lestranges over for dinner.'

'Augusta, it's a terrible thing that happened. I loved Frank and Alice. I love Neville. Em loves Neville. But they were combatants and it was a war.'

'They weren't fighting! They were hiding, they were supposed to be safe!'

'They were betrayed, Augusta, possibly by Pettigrew himself. If any one of us had found out where the Lestranges were, or Rosier before he died, and thought we could make them tell us where the Dark Lord was, who wouldn't have gone?'

There was a shuffling silence. 'And when Lucullus went to extract young Mulciber and those people died? Which of you called for him to be imprisoned?'

'It was an accident!'

'He was a reckless glory-seeker. My point is, things shift depending on one's perspective in all this. God alone knows that mine has.'

'What, you have a few good experiences and forget who you are?'

Moody looked Augusta right in the eye. 'Could say the same of you, Augusta. Romania's comfortable, is it?'

Arthur held up his hand. 'Alastor, none of us doubt your sincerity or ever have. But surely you see why we shrink from this?'

Moody opened the file of pictures of Whitnell and spread them silently on the table. Arthur's eyes widened.

'Dear God in Heaven.'

Minerva looked at them, lips crushed into a line. 'Abominable.'

'The Bulgarians are ready to stop this and bring us home. Would you shrink from ending it, Arthur? Molly, would you shrink from defending your children?'

'No' she said, eyes bright, pale under her freckles. She touched a picture of a child's shoe, a picture which told its own terrible tale.

'Then do this now. Let them help us and we might have a chance. Or don't, and take Romanian citizenship. The Bulgarians won't bother you if you agree not to bother them, I can promise you that. I know all three of the children, they'll honour their word.'

'What are they...are the stories true?'

'Most of them, but it's hard to explain how it was. It was...'

He shook his head, feeling the ghosts of his students pressing in on him, all those aurors he'd trained and then sent to die in the field, the murdered dead of Whitnell demanding justice on those who'd worse than killed them.

'Are they monsters, Alastor?'

'No. It would be easier if they were, I tell you truly, Minerva. We had to take children, normal children, and make them people who could fight this.' He tapped the picture. Hagrid, who'd been calming, started to weep again.

'You knew her, Minerva, the girl. She was one of your students. Do you think her capable of being a monster?'

Minerva inhaled slowly, fixing her collar for something to do with her hands. 'The child I knew? No. The woman she is now? I just don't know.'

'Her mother is no stranger to atrocity.'

'Neither am I, Minerva. When Crouch Sr. approved Unforgivables, I approved of it, publicly. When Crouch Sr authorised the use of the Cruciatus Curse on young Mulciber so we could get the Lestranges and Crouch Jr, I didn't protest. We all have a good deal to atone for, Minnie, myself as much as anyone else.'

'And this is the way to do it, Alastor?'

'It's the only way we have, Arthur.'

Molly touched his arm. 'I think we should do it.'

They talked long into the night, but the result was the same, in the end. They would do it. Moody felt he should be glad, but there was only the tiredness, and the grief, and the knowledge that the dead would never be restored to them, no matter what they did.

That was what Sirius would have said. He'd folded James's cloak and set out to find Remus as the moon, a thin crescent, rose above Durmstrang. He found his old friend sitting on the rock where, unbeknownst to them both, Hermione had nearly come to grief so many months before.

'Remus.'

'Sirius.'

Remus started to rise and then didn't, folding his hands and keeping his eyes down, using wolf manners as Sirius was using his dog ones. The two stood an arms length apart, sniffing one another as subtly as they could in order not to disturb any watching humans.

'You look well, Remus.'

'And yourself.'

'You owe me some answers.'

'I know.'

They sat in the grass. Hagrid's Fang came and sniffed them both, chuffing. Sirius transformed to suggest the presence of a nearby rabbit warren, and Fang gave a polite bow and took off, having understood the request for privacy.

'Sirius, I...'

'You really thought I betrayed James, Remus?'

'It was...I don't know. Suddenly James was dead and Peter was dead and Lily was dead and Dorcas was dead, and Marlene, and Alice and Frank were...worse than dead. Everything had gone insane, so it didn't seem...I'm so sorry, Sirius.'

Sirius nodded. 'It will take some time to...it can't be like it was. You know that, don't you?'

'I do.'

'But we...our family can be complete again. Different, but complete.'

'Family?'

'It won't be like it was, Remus, but I think they'd want us to try.'

'I think so too. I have missed you.'

'It's been a struggle, Remus. Em and I were...'

'Is Edric yours?' Remus looked away as he said it, reaching out to stroke Fang's flank as the dog returned, hare in mouth, to eat a few metres away, clearly uneasy about their smell of uncertainty.

'No, he's Rabastan's.'

'Is there anything we could do to help?'

'Be kind to her, and tell the others likewise. She's had a very hard journey, Remus. Harder than mine and harder than Alastor's.'

'Is he cruel to her? Mad-Eye doesn't think so.'

'No. He's good to her. All of them are. That's what hard about it. They aren't...they don't seem like fanged monsters.'

'Like werewolves, you mean?'

'No. The werewolves I know are all pretty decent blokes. One of them worked for a bank.' Sandru Istok had been some sort of banking expert before he was bitten.

'Except me, you mean.'

'I don't know, Remus. I've been to Wales under Greyback. It's bad. Doesn't that bother you?'

'Of course it does, but Sirius, our position is tenuous at best. There's very few of us in Romania, and pushing too aggressively could undermine us with Dorina Vulpes.'

'Like raising an army did to my cousins?'

Remus flushed. 'I'm not saying you're wrong, Sirius. We deserved that.'

'Yes, you did.'

'But we can make amends now, can't we?'

Remus looked hopeful. Sirius wanted to shake him for being naive. But he couldn't, because he owed it to James and Lily and even to Harry, amongst the lost like his parents, to try to make things like they were. Or better. Sirius hoped it would be better.

'We can start. Do me a favour, Remus?'

'Anything.'

'When my cousin comes-Hermione, I mean-she might ask questions about her muggle parents. She doesn't need to know what happened to them, nor that Kingsley and Alastor were the ones who took her from her parents. She believes the Order killed them.'

'She doesn't know about her parents?'

'Not about that. Make sure she doesn't find out. Talk to the others about it. '

Remus nodded. 'You don't think she'd be better served by the truth?'

'I think she's the right to a little peace of mind and a sense that things aren't going to shatter again.'

'It must be hard for her, surrounded by those people.'

'They love her to bits, and so do I, and Snape, and everyone else. Our family is happy, Remus.'

'A family you want us to join?'

'A family I want to create. We've done it before, haven't we?'

Family could be friends as well, and Sirius hoped that someday his would be both, the people he'd been born to and the people he'd befriended, all of them brought together because they cared about one another.

Remus shifted. 'It's odd, thinking of Snape and love in the same sentence.'

'He does, though. He's a cunt, don't ever think differently, but a cunt I'm proud is my friend.'

'He's forgiven you what happened when we were younger?'

'We've talked about it. We all did stupid, hurtful things when we were young.'

'That's true.'

They sat in the cool darkness and talked into the night, bringing back dead times and dead people, finding a way to move forward, and finding hope for things to come.


	48. Chapter 48

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Strange but true: There has been a sharp uptick in snake-related things coming into my life lately, which is to say I recently found a pair of snake earrings in a second-hand store, and then, shortly after, a snake-patterned necklace. I'm taking it as a sign of some sort, and look quite a bit more Slytherin to boot. Or more like Nagini :)**

**Also, Puglyday, 'Sad little robot man' is my new favorite nickname for Snape. Forgot to mention that earlier.**

Arthur Weasley wasn't quite sure what to expect as the Bulgarian party descended from the carriage, but the first thing he saw was how young they all were. The first person out was a diminutive dark-haired boy in an eyepatch, who carefully helped a few very young ladies to the ground and then, very slowly, the girl herself.

She was awfully pretty, and very like her mother, all doe eyes and dark hair. Even at this distance, he could feel her magic, and his own stirred in response to it, like the stirring of a man's blood at the sight of woman naked and willing. It wasn't Darkness, exactly, but the potential was there, the strangely thrilling knowledge that she could do things that most people could only dream of.

Her husband was right behind her, brutal-faced and silent. He radiated power but differently, a physical menace. His eyes never left his wife, and he stood near her, drawing strength, perhaps, from her own.

The Malfoy lad, too, radiated that disturbing sense of barely restrained danger. He was smiling, tall like his father, with almost colourless eyes and hair. The others, people he'd read dossiers on, spread out. The Kask twins, belligerent, stocky and as strikingly alike as two people of opposite gender could be; Enver Vata, with his not-quite-aligned face; unsmiling Luan Ismaili, with Lemuel Scabior beside him as a grinning contrast.

The little one (was his name something like Tamm?) stepped forward. Sunlight flashed off his eyepatch, a very familiar eyepatch indeed. He bowed gravely to the assembled people.

'Viktor, Lord Protector of Bulgaria and Hermione, the Vicereine.'

The retinue swept forward, flanked on either side by men in dark clothing. Wolves? Arthur felt like he should recognise them, having met some of them before they'd left in November.

'My lord and lady, welcome to Durmstrang.'

'Headmaster Feathering, it's good to be home.' Moody was to keep his cover with the young people for the forseeable future, to protect his wife in Britain and to avoid potentially making the Bulgarians hesitate to trust him.

They embraced, and Moody-Feathering brought Dorina Vulpes forward. 'My lord and lady Krum, Minister Dorina Vulpes. Minister, Viktor and Hermione Krum, rulers of Bulgaria.'

Dorina embraced them as well, business-like. 'Honoured, my lord and lady.'

'Likewise, Minister.'

The girl seemed ready to answer except an international incident intervened, which is to say Hagrid's Fang, seeing an old friend, leapt, and sent the Vicereine of Bulgaria flying under his massive, and muddy from an early swim, paws.

Arthur tensed as Hagrid ran lunged for the dog's collar. The Vicereine sat up, muddy and damp, and...laughed, throwing her arms about the dog's neck.

'Fang! Hello, boy!'

Her husband knelt down, slowly extending a hand for the dog to sniff. Fang duly did it and then tackled the Malfoy lad, chuffing joyously. Malfoy seemed less enthusiastic but did pat the dog gently.

'Goodness, Vicereine, I'm sorry e did this!'

'Hagrid, it's me. He was just happy to see an old friend.' She stood up, robes dirty, hair askew, and held out her arms to Hagrid. Hagrid, after a pause, embraced her.

'Cor, Ermione, yer lookin old now. Not old, I mean, but older.'

'I hope so. Hagrid, this is my husband Viktor. Viktor, Rubeus Hagrid, a teacher of mine when I was younger.'

'An honour, sir. My wife has spoken highly of you in my presence.'

Beside Arthur, Minerva McGonagall's brows were nearly to her hairline. "Curious.'

'Quite so.'

Everyone having duly stood up and dusted off (and Fang having made the acquaintance of a small pack of beautiful, mastiff-like Bulgarian dogs), the group processed inside.

The Bulgarians withdrew to change quickly. Ron, saw Arthur, was very quiet and thoughtful. 'That could have been worse, Dad.' The boy had come in with the Romanians that morning and said little since.

'Quite a bit worse. Are you all right, Ron?'

'It's strange, seeing her like this. She was glad to see Hagrid, at least.'

'I think she'll be glad to see all of us. Don't forget what we discussed, Ron.'

'No, Dad.'

She would be a very beautiful woman, thought Arthur when the group returned. The three young people circulated. When the girl got to Minerva she beamed.

'Professor, how have you been?'

'Well, Miss Gr-madam, thank you.'

'Are you still teaching?'

'I work at the Ministry, teaching Romanian aurors advanced Transfiguration.'

The moment of truth was approaching. Ron was swallowing hard as she came nearer. Arthur smelt her perfume, and then she was standing before them, tears in her eyes.

'Ron.'

'Hermione. Lady Krum, I mean. It's, err, been a long time.'

'Yes. How are the others?'

'Well. Mum is here. She'd like to meet you.'

'I'd like to meet her. Take a walk with me later? An elf will come, or anyone else.'

'All right. You don't mind, Dad?'

'Not a bit.'

'Minister Weasley, it's good to finally meet you. Ron used to tell us stories. To Harry and me.'

'Good ones, I hope.'

'Very good. You were interested in muggles.'

'I still am.'

'If you've questions...' She turned her head away and quickly swiped at her eyes.

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. I am dreadfully sorry for your loss.'

'Thank you. They were good parents, and good people.'

He found it was hard to remember who her parents-her true parents-were like this. She was his son's age, and he remembered the excited, crup-love letters they'd got about her before things fell apart.

'I hope, Vicereine, that an accord between our peoples might make sure that no one else need suffer a loss like yours.'

'Minister, Bulgaria dreams the same. My lord husband and I are devoted to making a Europe that's safe for everyone.'

She seemed totally sincere, and casual in her mention of a husband. His eyes went to the two boys, one huge and hulking and dark, one thin to the point of angularity, blond and quick.

'Your godfather has spoken at some length about the events of the previous four years.'

'Professor Snape is our staunchest ally and best counsellor.'

'He is very fond of you, Vicereine.'

'And I of him. He was my guide through some very hard transitions.'

Arthur wished, as a father, that he could talk to her about it. He didn't imagine Bellatrix and Rodolphus had been much help to her during what must have been a terrifying time.

'May I introduce you to my husband?'

'Please do, my lady.'

The lad was a surprise. Up close, he looked even larger. It wasn't so much his height as his sheer presence. Next to his wife he looked more ungainly, head lowered. The girl smiled and he relaxed visibly, brushing her hand with his own.

'My lord, we meet at last.'

'Minister Weasley, I regret we could not come sooner.' His voice was very deep but soft, softer than Arthur would have expected from such a large man. Dorina had quietly approached them and now she spoke.

'My lord Krum, Vicereine. It would seem our interests have at last coincided.'

'It would, Minister. We've some of our people here you might like to speak you.'

'So we've heard. Magdalena Banciu sends you her regards.'

'I expect she's mentioned I was quite direct with her the day Blagoev poisoned those children?'

'She has. She says your wrath is terrible to behold.'

'I agree.' He was looking very evenly at Dorina, who gave it straight back. Arthur wondered how much the boy played on his appearance and demeanour to give him an edge in these matters, and whether his refusing to do was a ploy of some kind.

'Are you in the habit of frightening women to get them to comply with your wishes?'

'No more than you have the habit of abandoning those that serve you when they're of no more use to you. It would seem each of us is more than capable, though, wouldn't it?'

'I assure you, my lord, those wolves acted outside of official Ministry sanction.'

'Pavel seems to think differently, Minister.'

'Pavel is a dangerous fanatic.'

'Perhaps the two of you might like to hash this out?'

For the first time, Dorina looked uneasy. 'He's here?'

'Mr. Scabior, our head of security, thought it a good idea to bring some of our best men. Pavel, Eugen Arco, Costin Galca, a few others.'

'Do they wish to return to Romania?'

The lad smiled. 'You can ask them, if you'd like. Mr. Pavel?'

A man seemed to materialise from nothing. He bowed, eyes sparkling, and came up.

'Minister Vulpes. It's been a long time.'

'I'm sure we've never met, sir.'

'That isn't my recollection. Fortunately, Professor Snape was kind enough to harvest my memories for use in the Pensieve presentation this evening.'

'Memories might be tampered with, Mr. Pavel.'

'Which is also why I'm prepared to take Veritaserum to confirm them.'

Dorina looked like she hadn't expected that, at least. 'Surely, Mr. Pavel, that isn't necessary?'

'I think it is. Starting things out between the countries on the right foot.'

'Divulging state secrets-if you had any, which you do not-is the right foot?'

'I loved Romania, Minister, but it seems Romania didn't much love me back. Only humans can be citizens, as it turns out.'

'Equal protection under the-'

'Law, which ceased to apply to us when it was convenient for it not to. If Romania wanted my loyalty, perhaps it should have treated me a bit better. I'm a wolf, not a dog.'

'Surely we could discuss this, Mr. Pavel?'

'I would, but Minister, you don't know me, remember? Something to drink, Vicereine?'

'Please.' The girl smiled at him and he slipped back into the crowd. Dorina swallowed hard.

'How many did you bring? Wolves, I mean.'

'Fifty, Minister, for tonight. More are coming.'

'And all of them prepared to back up this absurd story?'

'Prepared to testify, yes. As to it's absurdity...time will tell. If you'll excuse me, I have yet to meet Madam Weasley.' The lad bowed slightly and moved across the room toward Molly.

'Thank you, Mr. Pavel.'

The girl tilted her head at Dorina and smiled winsomely. 'You look rather pale, Minister. Shall I send my elf for a potion for you?'

'No need, my lady, thank you. I should sit down.'

Arthur wondered which of the women was more dangerous. His money was on the girl. This close, her magic was almost painfully strong, a potent force that made his skin tingle a little.

'Mr. Weasley?'

'Vicereine?'

'I hope our people can be friends.'

He restrained himself from touching her arm. 'I do too.'

Some hours later, Lem Scabior was standing in the corner of a room, watching the nobs talk politics. The wolves were stationed in every nook and corner, quivering with eagerness. He caught Arco's eye and nodded and Eugen nodded back. Scabior bit his cheek so as not to smile. Eugen, normally so mild and shy, had a predatory air about him. He'd give it good to that Vulpes bitch if he got a chance, Scabior had no doubt.

Scabior caught Alise's eye and winked. She winked back, sitting near Flower, holding her papers. His wife was sitting next to the Vicereine of Bulgaria, in front of everyone. He felt a small hard thrill, knowing that, knowing that he, Lem Scabior, had a well-born wife who liked him and who trusted him not to hurt her, and who was needed by a Vicereine. Not bad for a fellow from St. Dismas's Rookery, was it?

Across the table, Ted Tonks was talking. 'I'm not sure it's advisable for us to commit so fully without having seen the evidence.'

Rita Skeeter huffed. 'I am more than willing to submit to Veritaserum.' She had come in beetle form, and was giving as good as she got. Scabior still didn't like her, but since she was Nicolae's bird now, he supposed he could learn not to hate her. A bit.

'That's all to the good, madam, surely, but my concern is not your evidence. I wonder whether it's advisable to rely on information from sources which might be...less than reliable.'

The Bulgarian's eyes were flat and hostile. 'I assume, sir, you're referring to my in-laws?'

'It's nothing personal, but how do we know they haven't some sort of agenda?'

Snape rolled his eyes. 'Yes, their continual risking of their lives is obviously for fun, isn't it, Tonks?'

'I'm simply saying that it would be a good idea for us to find independent sources.'

The Bulgarian nodded toward Scabior and then motioned at the wolves. 'Any of these men can confirm various parts of the story, and there are others in Britain we could probably send for. Professor?'

'Llewellyn Rice, for a start.'

'Precisely so.'

'Rice the assassin?'

'Rice, my father in law's man.'

'If Llewellyn Rice is the best example you can offer, my lord, perhaps you'd do better not to offer any.'

Scabior stiffened, making himself keep his hands still and not reach for his scabbard. He reached into his pocket and scratched Chum's velvety ears. The rat nestled into his hand, sighing a small ratty sigh of contentment that Scabior felt rather than heard.

'Llewellyn Rice has always been honest with us, sir. If you believe it polite to question the honour of a man who can't answer you, then perhaps I should speak with someone else.'

Tonks clenched his jaw. 'My lord, all I mean is that there are reliable and unreliable witnesses. Rice is not of what one would call high moral fibre.'

'I don't believe it to be my place to judge him. If you'd rather another witness, name him or her.'

Flower cleared her throat. 'Mr. Scabior witnessed many of these events. Perhaps he'd feel comfortable discussing them.'

Tonks gave her a look so full of contempt that Scabior took a step forward before he stopped himself. It would scare the girls if he hit Tonks, he told himself sternly. A gentleman would wait before he knocked the fucker's teeth out for insulting Llew and being rude to the kids.

'Mr. Scabior has a history of his own which renders his perceptions questionable at best.'

'You ave sumthin to say t me, mate, you'd best looks me in the eye whilst you do it.'

'Do you permit your staff to speak this way to diplomats, Vicereine?'

'Any member of our household is free to offer insights, Mr. Tonks. Your behaviour is grossly insulting at best and malicious at worst. If you've a problem with someone, have the courage to tell them directly.'

'Mr. Scabior is hardly qualified to offer insight on international policy.'

'Why's zat, Mr. Tonks? I aint gots the rite accent? Me Da were a factery werker? I aint read so gud?'

'Because you're a habitual criminal and a convicted murderer.'

'Yeah, I am, aints I? But that doan change the things I seen an dun, does it? I doan talks gud, but that doan make me blind. Nor stupid, but there's no convincin you a that, is there?'

'I refuse to continue this line of conversation.'

'Why is that, sir? Do you find yourself losing?' Young Malfoy was grinning that hard white grin of his. Scabior wished he was a gentleman so he could clap the kid's shoulder and buy him a pint for this.

'Young man, perhaps in the circle you run it, a murderer's word is adequate, but I prefer a less uncertain alliance.'

'No, your circle prefers to let my circle do your dirty work. Wouldn't want to get out hands bloody, **Uncle**, would we?'

Tonks was going red about the neck. 'I do not think-'

'No, you don't. Minister Weasley, perhaps we should take a break?'

Scabior did step forward then, heart pounding. 'Kin I say sumthin?'

Flower's lips quirked upward. 'Please do, Mr. Scabior.'

'Tonks is rite, I aint a gud man. I killed that bloke, an lots else beside. I dun bad things for Rodolphus Lestrange, an I aint sorry. E were the best gennleman I ever met, an I still thinks the world a im, and a is daughter.'

'Thing is, oo the ell is anyone ere to say boo t a goose bout it? Ow many a you aurors dint try ard to fix thins for people like me when sumeone urt us? Ow many a you teachers saw kids like me gettin beat and not avin enough food and sed nothin where you'd a called the thorities fer sumone with a gud name and gud clothes?'

'Nun a you thinks I'm worth scrapin yer dir'y boots on cause a oo I am. Ow's that makes you better n the Dark Lord? Least e admits what e is. Least e's got the stomach to say 'I believes this, and be fucked t ooever doan likes it?' Nun of you as that. All you gots is pretendin t be nice and goin on yer way. Makes me sick, it does.'

Tonks stood up. 'You'll permit that man to speak to us this way, Krum?'

'Sit down, Ted.' Arthur Weasley put a hand to the fellow's arm but he shook it off, glowering belligerently.

Flower answered. 'Mr. Scabior has the same right to speak as yourself, Mr. Tonks. Can't you refute what he said, rather than how he said it?'

That old bitch McGonagall spoke up. 'Mr. Scabior, you were my student. Tell me, when did you come to me and tell me you'd a problem I could help you fix?'

'Every time I comes back from oliday with bruises all over me face and arms, and you never sed nothin. Every time I talked t the nurse and she dint do nothin, either. I'm a bad man, but if I saw a child gettin it I'd say, and I'd stop it. You aint.'

'It was not our place to interfere with-'

'Then you acknowledge, Professor, you saw a problem and did nothing to correct it?' Flower, bless her, spoke at once. Scabior wished he was a gentleman so he could kiss her cheeks and call her a good girl in thanks.

'The governors-'

'Are not the subject. Did you or did you not wilfully refuse to help a child in need?'

McGonagall got very quiet. Then she said softly 'It was a failing.'

'Yes, it was.'

'That doesn't excuse the fellow's crimes, my lady.' Tonks, that fucker.

'It's not meant to. Nearly every person in this room has killed someone at some time. I have. Are you going to call me a liar?'

'Me as well.' Young Malfoy.

'And I.' Krum.

'I have.' Paavo Kask rapped his stick smartly as he said it.

'So have I.' His sister.

'I've done it.' Vata.

'I have also.' Alise, who was glaring murderously at Tonks, the good brave girl.

'Same here.' Ismaili.

'I've never killed anyone but I've helped.' Tamm, looking resolute. He glanced at young Malfoy and then at Black, both of whom nodded reassuringly.

'So you see, Mr. Tonks, if the bar is set at never having killed a man, we all fail.'

'This is totally insane. Arthur? Dorina?'

'Leave, Ted.'

Tonks stormed out, face a thundercloud. Scabior didn't hear the rest of the conversation, which thankfully wasn't long. He felt too good, and that was all right.

After the group broke for the night, he found Flower and Alise walking arm and arm, speaking French for privacy's sake, giggling and whispering.

'Ello, ladies. Ow's doins?'

'Better than I'd hoped, Scabior. You?'

'Gud, gud. Ope as I dint make it arder fer you, Flower.'

'Not at all. They needed to hear that.'

'Well, doan neither a you werry bout defendin me, now. Not as I doan ppreciate it, but they aint goin t lissen.'

'It's what friends do.'

'And families' said Alise, with a dark look at the castle. Scabior kissed her forehead and Flower found a reason to head back, leaving them in the gathering twilight.

'This is the place I wasn't good enough to go.'

'You sorry?'

'Not a bit.'

'Nor am I. You dun gud today, girl.'

'You did, too. You were splendid. Like that giant snake of Madam Feathering's.'

He snorted. 'I aint s'useful as she is.'

'Are too.'

She kissed him on the lips and then stepped back, smirking a bit. 'Told you they'd listen.'

Then she turned and ran and he gave her chase, and they had a good time just being together.

Scabior had always thought being a gentleman would be pleasant, but now, lying side by side with his wife on a hummock of grass and counting the stars, he saw how sweet it could really be. He had a feeling of grace, of unearnt beauty and gladness, and let it hold him, let the Universe take him and cradle him in its grasp.

Meanwhile Crookshanks, true ruler of Bulgaria (and everything), most important cat in Europe, was patrolling with one of his dogs. The dog, Bess, chuffed, nosing him in a friendly way, and he rubbed against her muzzle, inviting her to walk toward a copse of trees with him.

The two set off, Bess respecting his need for a slower speed. He was nineteen these days, not especially old for a kneazle but not young either. He felt he looked quite good for middle-aged-the grey about his muzzle lent him an air of dignity, and his chewed ear rakishness.

Bess, on the other hand, was very young indeed. He remembered when she was a dog-kit, all big paws and excitement. He sneezed fondly, reminding her of it, and she chuffed again. She had changed since the cold-time. Some of her joy had gone, mellowing her but making her sadder. Like his Girl, she had fought the Predator claw to claw and been raked.

Ahead of him, he caught sight of another cat. He threw back his head, sniffing the air. A quean, mature and healthy. Bess whined, asking a question of him. He flicked his tail and they approached.

The quean was sleek silver tabby. Crookshanks miaowed politely, greeting her and giving a list of his antecedents. The quean responded in kind, and offered her cheeks for rubs. They exchanged scents and Crookshanks introduced his young dog-friend, who bowed and stepped back, lest her larger size intimidate the quean.

Crookshanks miaowed again. Would the quean, whose name was Minnie, care for a walk with them? The quean agreed, and they set off, sometimes frisking after a mouse or pretending to chase a bat.

There were humans nearby. Crookshanks blatted, eager to introduce Minnie to his Girl and her Boy. He explained as they walked, telling about his early life in Wales, his subsequent life in France and England, and his current situation.

Was he happy? Asked the quean with a flick of her tail.

Very happy, though he wished his Girl wasn't tired so often. And that her mousing was better. He'd tried to teach her in the past and she was oddly reluctant.

And the Boy?

Slightly harder to train than the Girl had been, but very satisfactory. There were a large number of human kits, not the Girl's and Boy's but who lived with them sometimes, and Crookshanks had the idea it was to do with the Boy, somehow.

Human kits? Did their own queans and toms come for them at the end of every sun?

They did. Crookshanks would rather the kits stayed where he could watch them, especially since the Bad Milk had happened. He sniffed all the food and drink now, checking it, and so did the dogs to be totally sure. They knocked anything they thought smelt funny over, and the dogs had even eaten some of it, determined to protect the human-kits no matter what.

Minnie purred admiringly. He was a very brave tom, it seemed to her, and the dogs as well.

Well, he demurred, he tried to do what he could. He kept the rats at bay and made sure his humans slept and ate. They were nearly at the humans now.

And the Man Scabior? What did Crookshanks think of him?

He liked him, overall. He had a coat full of treats and liked to give ear scratches. But he sometimes smelt of blood, and Crookshanks could sense the Predator on him betimes.

Was he dangerous?

Crookshanks yawned. All of them were, he told Minnie. Some of them are Man-Wolves. And his Girl had come in a few times, smelling like Danger.

Minnie rubbed her cheek on him and they were there. His Girl bent down and picked him up. Crookshanks nuzzled her, rubbing her silly human neck and ears with his musk. He worried about her, he tried to say with a blat, she had to tell him where she was going.

Minnie approached slowly, sniffing Scabior's shoes. Alise was there too, and Crookshanks miaowed to get down so he could rub on her as well.

'Professor? Professor McGonagall?'

Crookshanks had seen a number of strange things in his long life, so he was surprised, but not excessively, when Minnie stepped back and flowed into a human female. He miaowed once-will wonders never cease-and raised a paw so Scabior, who'd come over to see him, would pick him up.

The man obliged. 'Ello, Crooks. What's doins?'

Crookshanks miaowed softly. He could smell the rat on Scabior, but only a bit. He didn't like the rat. There was something about him that smelt like Bad and Dangerous.

'Hello Madam Krum, Madam Scabior, Mr. Scabior.'

'Is everything all right, Professor?'

'Perfectly fine. I was rather hoping I would run into you.'

'You wants us t go, ma'am?'

Scabior set Crookshanks down. Crookshanks could tell from the set of his head that Scabior didn't like this female much.

'If you'd rather.'

'Rather stay close by, if the missus doan mind.'

'Not at all.' Alise smelt no happier than her Man, for all she didn't smell angry like he did. Things were curiouser and curiouser here, to quote a famous cat.

The four humans sat down on two separate benches as Crookshanks draped his tail over his Girl's ankle, subtly showing that she was his. She scratched his head, finding the shivery place beside his ear that made him blat with pleasure.

'It has been quite a long time, Professor.'

'It has, at that. Madam Krum, I am terribly sorry.'

'Sorry?'

'You were thrust into a situation for which you were not prepared, and my actions, and those of the people about me, made things worse.'

'How so, Professor?'

Minnie stroked Crookshanks's neck gently. 'Sirius spoke to us at some length last night about the way our...attitudes and expectations...have ill-served you and the other young people, and Mr. Scabior's...blunt assessment of things... struck home rather more than I might have liked.'

The Girl nodded, rubbing Crookshanks's flank. 'Thank you, Professor.'

'Is it...are those people kind to you? Really and truly?'

The Girl called the malodorous elf to fetch something, and then handed it to Minnie. Minnie used her human finger-paws to open it and read it aloud, smelling surprised.

'This is not what I would have expected.'

Crookshanks rose to butt her human-paw with his head. Did she see what he meant about his people?

Minnie rubbed her head gently with his for a moment.

'Your cat, you know, loves you dearly.'

'So do my parents.'

'I do not doubt it, child. Only it is hard for us, now, seeing what we have all wrought.'

'It isn't too late to fix this, Professor.'

'Thank God.'

Crookshanks sat down between them, tail curled about his haunches, and miaowed to show that he, too, would help.

'That quite settles it, then.'

Crookshanks thought so, anyway.


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**To carry hearts is a reference to ee cummings.**

**Normally I would not ask, but a member of my family is currently very ill. Any prayers, good intentions, thoughts, positive vibrations and what-have-you would be welcomed. **

Piece by agonised piece, a plan was falling into place. Draco bent over the map and touched the dot that was Wiltshire, imagining the flat green plains and fields. Visiting Stonehenge with Father and Mother for picnics. Cool, shady pools to splash in with Greg and Vince. Watching deer in Malfoy Park. Albino peacocks gently pecking seed from his hand when he was small.

He stroked the map, picturing all these places he had once known and loved as charred wastelands, blasted ruins where starving refugees, magical and muggle, streamed toward nothing, like a remembered column walking through snow to nowhere.

Someone cleared their throat behind him. 'Malfoy?'

'Hello, Weasley.'

'I'm not interrupting?'

'Not at all. Please, sit down. Wanted to talk to you, actually.'

Weasley looked slightly wary but sat. He looked older but still more the same than different. Draco ran a hand through his hair, cropped short from school. His hands were covered in scars from fighting, the nails split and chipped from battling the brigand-wolves.

'I was an awful little gobshite when I was younger. I wanted to apologise for it. I'm sorry.'

Weasley nodded gravely. 'Thank you, Malfoy. I appreciate it.'

'So how've you been?'

Weasley gestured to the map and then stood, leaning over to point to a place. 'Ottery Saint Catchpole. Our house was called the Burrow.'

Draco pointed to Mere. 'Malfoy Manor is eighteen kilometres from there. We've a park with animals in it.'

'You've never struck me as the animal sort.'

'I'm not, but it does paint a nice picture. Do you like Romania?'

Weasley nodded immediately. 'It's good. When I finish school next year, I'm going to help my brother with the dragons.'

'That sounds fun.'

'It is. What about you? Are you done with school?'

'Another two years. How are you finishing in a year?'

'It's sixteen in Romania.'

'Have you got a girl?'

' I do. Lavender Brown. You're engaged to Miss Kask, is that right?'

'Informally. We don't want formalise things until I'm of age.'

Technically speaking, they could be married now, if they wanted to, because the age of consent was fourteen in Bulgaria, but they'd decided the world might look down on their adopted country if they didn't wait.

Weasley touched the map again. 'I'm sorry about what happened to you all. The things we heard about it sounded terrible.'

'Thank you. It was frightening.'

'Bet it was. I was listening to the Cup when things fell apart.'

Draco remembered the nauseous terror of that day, the taste of fear in his mouth like old copper, hot and slick. 'That wasn't the worst one by far.'

'Blimey.'

Draco was relieved that Weasley hadn't asked more about that. He was tired of thinking about the things that had happened. He saw them in his dreams, and when he lost time during the day; he didn't want to replay the screams for someone's curiosity.

'What about you?'

Weasley dipped his head. 'Nothing like but you've been through, of course. We got back from the train station and Bill was there packing. We knew they'd come for us sooner or later. Mum and Dad were off fighting.'

'At Hogwarts?'

'Mmm hmm. They came back and said they'd loosed Dementors on the fighters and that we had to go right then. So we did.'

'Went where?'

Weasley waved a hand vaguely. 'Romania. And then we ended up here.'

'Do you speak Romanian?'

'I'm doing it right now.'

'Was it hard to adjust, generally speaking?'

'Some of it was hard to get used to. We were all together, though, and had Mum and Dad. It's harder to...well, feel English.'

'You don't speak English at home?'

'Mum and Dad do. We usually speak Romanian to each other. Charlie gave us all a crash-course and we practiced hard.'

'Do you want to go back, Weasley? Honestly?'

Weasley looked guarded and Draco held up a hand. 'This isn't a trap. I know your parents do. I'm strictly being curious.'

'It's hard to say. We've only lived there four years, so it's not like I don't remember England. But Romania feels like home.'

'If I've learnt anything, Weasley, it's that home is where we find it.'

'What about you?'

'I don't know. Sofia's a good place to be.'

Hermione's manky old orange tom jumped up onto the table, sniffing the map. He blatted flatly at them, eyes bright with the chipper malice that cats do best. Draco scratched the thing's ears despite himself.

'Hello, boy. Have you met Weasley yet?'

The cat turned to the other lad and extended his head to eye him more closely. Weasley extended a hand and the cat rubbed against him, tail flicking.

'Yours?'

'Hermione's. She loves the ratty old creature for whatever reason.'

Crookshanks sneezed pointedly and stretched out, lying himself across Britain. He batted at Penzance a bit and then settled back, head up, a third party in their conversation.

'He's quite a large cat.'

'And bossy.'

'Hermione was always good at that.' Weasley grinned and then flushed. 'Lady Krum, I mean. No disrespect.'

'No, you're right. She's always spoken very well of you, Weasley. It hurt her that everyone left.'

'I'm sure it did. Is it true that Harry's...?'

'Yes. You saw him that day.'

'I was in the dorms getting my things when it...there was a confrontation.'

'Alecto Carrow'd hit her. Hermione. She's a raging bitch, Alecto. That's something she'd do.'

'Cor. Thinking of that, that thing inside Harry is just...'

'I'm sorry, Weasley.' He felt surprisingly sorry for the other fellow, wished he could pad the blow a bit. Weasley dipped his head again.

'It's nothing you did.'

An elf popped in. Their presence was requested in the Hall, it would seem. Draco led the way, thinking things over.

A few hours earlier, Snape had been doing much the same. He and the idiot dog were sitting in the quarters given them, reading the paper and talking about nothing particularly when someone had knocked them up.

Both of them had risen, wands in hand, but it proved to be merely Rubeus Hagrid.

'Ello, Sirius. Snape. Ave somethin we thought you might like. Ron Weasley grabbed it when e left Ogwarts all those years ago.'

He held out a package and Sirius took it. At Hagrid's nod he carried it to the table and undid the knots which held the twine. Snape was only half paying attention until the dog gasped and sank down, white as milk.

'Black?'

Black tried to speak and nothing came out. Hagrid nodded and stepped out, clearly uncomfortable in the small room. Black wasn't moving, eyes saucers under his shaggy, still short hair.

'Black?'

'It's the album.'

'Album?'

'James and Lily's album. Look.' He gently pushed the thing, open, toward Snape, whose heart squeezed painfully. Lily was smiling up at him, unaware of what her kindness to him as children would do, what he had wrought.

Black looked even worse than he felt. Snape took a step back. 'I assume you would prefer privacy for this.'

'No. If you didn't want to go, it would be all right.'

Snape managed a nod. He didn't want to sit here with Black and contemplate things best left buried in the past. He didn't. But he would. Because it would keep the berk sweet, and because Black would have done for him. The wanker.

'That's Harry as a baby. Didn't he have a lot of hair?' An infant lay in Lily's arms, smiling up at her as she beamed back, face alight with love and happiness. The pain was extraordinary.

Black turned the page. 'Here's James and Peter and Remus and I during the Matriculation feast.' The four, arms about one another, stood laughing at something.

'Marlene was taking this picture. She looked so beautiful that night, I remember. She had this blue dress on, and she...oh, God. God.' He covered his face and breathed deeply, clearly trying not to cry.

Snape didn't do tears. He didn't do any emotion well, but he especially didn't do tears. It was different with the children, particularly the girl, because they were young, and it wouldn't do to have them upset. But Black was not the children.

Snape awkwardly touched his arm. What the hell does one say? 'If you're going to cry, warn me. You seem like a wailer.'

Black snorted. 'You bloody cunt, you never stop.'

'Never. That's their wedding day.' He touched the next picture. Lily was a vision in cream and silver, hair flowing long and loose down her back.

'She was sorry you hadn't come.' Black didn't uncover his face.

'So am I.'

'You loved her quite a lot, didn't you?'

Snape wanted to hate him but couldn't. 'I still do.'

Black, the tosser, didn't laugh, which might have made Snape kill him. Instead he lowered his hands and looked him in the face. 'I don't blame you. She was wonderful, wasn't she?'

Snape was horrified to find his own eyes tearing. 'Kind and gentle. Good. The girl reminds me of her.'

'Me, too. Lily would have liked her.'

'I know. I've told her that.'

'She knows about Lily?'

'Not as such, but she knows.'

Black flipped a page. Peter Pettigrew was smiling, holding a sturdy little dark haired baby by the hands as the boy walked, grinning up at him.

'Harry adored Peter. Better than he did me, actually.'

'He wasn't...he wasn't like this then.'

'No. He was a good bloke. Funny. Not book-smart, but neither was I. And he could do things...if you needed someone to help you move flats, or watch the kids, or pick a gift for a granny, Peter was the person to ask.'

Snape mentally contrasted the man he knew with the young fellow Black was describing to him, a funny, friendly sort who was good with children and helped friends move.

'You know, looking at him now...I wonder if I caused it.'

'You, Black? I persistently refuse to ascribe anything positive to you, but even someone as relentless awful in absolutely all respects as yourself didn't cause this.'

'If we'd been nicer to him, maybe he wouldn't have.'

'Don't make excuses for him, Black. We all make our own choices.'

'But I can't imagine why he would...Harry loved him. We all loved him.'

'Love covers a multitude of sins, Black. In the end, he opted to take the Mark to save his own skin. You wouldn't have done, nor Potter, from what I knew of him, nor Lupin. He chose this.'

Black nodded weakly. 'We all did.'

Snape turned a page. Four much younger Gryffindors stared back at him, all gawky legs and arms. 'First year?'

'Second. See, there's Frank and Alice. Alice was Marlene's older sister.'

'I recall.' The Longbottoms smiled, arm in arm even then. Snape felt almost sick with the contrast presented by this picture and the mental one of the last he'd seen of the Longbottoms, wandering about, eyes blank, faces slack.

'There's Harry again.' A slightly older Potter was on Black's hip, snuggling into his neck, little feet kicking with pleasure as Black soundlessly spoke to him.

'He loved you, Black.'

'He did. I used to find reasons to come over just to see him. Lily finally just told me to come over whenever I liked to play with him. He was so bright, and so happy. We were a family, Snape. And Peter...he took it all away. And for what?' The wavering edge was back in Black's voice.

'Weakness. Fear.'

Black nodded. 'What are you going to do with him?'

'With Pettigrew?

'Now that they know.'

'I've always promised you he was yours when his usefulness ended.'

'I know. The Order might want him tried.'

'The Order doesn't get a vote. What do you wish to do?'

Black considered, stroking the moustache he'd recently cultivated despite Snape's helpeful remarks about people who look like ponces with moustaches.

'We still have to save Reg.'

'I remember.'

'We'll need someone to geass in his place.'

'You propose we use Pettigrew? I thought you'd want to rip him apart with your bare hands. Paws, rather.'

'I do, but Reg is more important.'

'All right, then.'

Black swished his wand at the album and handed a picture to Snape. A headshot of Lily, the sun turning her hair to fire. She was smiling, eyes bright with joy. Her wedding day?

'Thank you, Black.'

Black nodded and transformed, nosing open the door. Snape suspected he wanted to run some of this off, and said nothing. When he was gone Snape sent his elf to tuck the picture in his things and laid down to rest. When he woke, his pillow was wet. He touched the edges of the picture and refused to let himself think about it.

Hours later, he walked as quickly as he decently could down the corridors of Durmstrang, which was freezing even in high summer. How odd, he thought, that Moody should take root here, when so many others would not.

In order to protect the man's cover, the Order members were sworn to secrecy. After the war ended, if it ever did, then Moody could choose to resume his true name, if not his true face.

Snape suspected he would not. He had a good life here, and hopefully that would be enough. Time enough for worrying about that later, he determined, and billowed into the Hall, pleased that the others were there already.

'Good evening, all. I have promised you concrete proof of the story Black and I have been telling. Scabior, your rat, please.'

Scabior, brow furrowed, sent an elf for Chum. As soon as the elf came back Lupin was on his feet. 'Wormtail?'

The rat saw the assembled people and started to screech, paddling his little pink feet. Weasley Jr had also jumped up. 'Scabbers?'

'Ladies and gentlemen, Peter Pettigrew.' Snape brandished his wand at the twitching rat and the rat tried to break for it. Kreacher swooped down and seized him by the scruff of his neck.

'Change back, Wormtail.'

Finally he did. Pettigrew fell to his knees, sobbing with terror, as the room exploded. Pettigrew lunged at Scabior and clutched his knees.

'Kind sir, gentle sir, haven't I been a good rat to you? A clever rat, a faithful rat?'

Scabior brought his fist down, clouting the quivering rat man. 'You bastard, I lets you sleep next to me wife!'

Weasley Jr looked equally appalled, and took several staggering steps backwards, hands raised to fend off the crawling rat-man when he'd recovered from the blow.

'Don't you touch me!'

Kreacher used his powerful house elf magic to bind Pettigrew to prevent him from touching Weasley Jr, his snobbery overcome by the biological imperative to defend a wizard, especially an underage one, from harm. The elf hissed menacingly at the rat-man, who cowered, still weeping.

'What will we do with him, Severus?' Minerva, forthright as ever. He'd always rather liked the old biddy, not that he'd have told her that for money.

'If any of you have questions to address to Pettigrew, I suspect he will answer them.'

'And if he doesn't, Snape?' Tonks, the idiot. Snape decided to find a way to hex him for common idiocy.

Scabior cracked his knuckles, grinning. 'You leaves that t me, Tonks. I kin gets im talkin without any trubble.'

After, Snape found himself seeking out the girl. She seemed to have the same urge; she pressed a hand to her husband's arm and then rose, Kreacher floating behind her like a foul smell, to fall in beside him as he walked into the night.

'Professor, is everything all right?'

'I am deep in thought, my lady Krum. It has been rather a challenging few days.'

She nodded and patted his arm gently. 'But nothing is the matter?'

'Probably. But not to my immediate knowledge, so it's all to the good. What about yourself, madam? Is there some reason you ask?'

She shook her head but not very hard. 'I miss Mother. And Aunt Cissy. Is that silly?'

'Not a bit.'

They found a bench and sat down, both of them travelling internal byways of their own. Finally the girl said 'Professor?'

'Madam Krum?'

'Do you suppose, since Sirius and yourself sometimes come to visit, Mother or Aunt Cissy could come?'

'It would be a terrible risk.'

She looked away. 'It was selfish of me to ask. I'm sorry.'

'I did not say no. Only that we must handle things exactly the right way.'

Her smile lit up her face, and he pictured the photo of Lily, sun in her hair. He restrained himself sternly from smiling back, and instead looked across the dark, empty plains of Durmstrang's grounds.

'You think a little danger would keep your mother and aunt from visiting you?'

'I don't want them to be hurt.'

'Hardly an answer, madam.'

'No, not at all.'

'Nor do I. They miss you as well.'

'Are they all right?'

Snape wanted to shake her. Of course they aren't, he wanted to say. They're terrified, of you and for you. Of what you can do, and what can be done to you. He could feel her magic, like a tide, ebbing and then growing stronger as her emotions got more intense.

'As well as they could be.'

'And Father, and my uncles?'

'The same.'

The girl nodded, and then suddenly pressed against him a second. Instinctively, he touched her back, feeling the knobs of her spine under his palm. What would it have been like, he wondered, for her to call him Father? To be able to fix things for her, because her problems were simply adolescent drama, rather than matters of international import?

'I've thinking about my muggles lately.'

'Oh?'

'Kreacher helped me. He told me about his mother, Pinky.'

The scowling little elf nodded, eyes softening a bit. Snape kept his hand on her back.

'Did it help?'

'A little bit. They aren't as far away when I talk about them.'

Snape understood that. 'My own mother used to say that when we love someone, we carry their hearts in our hearts.'

'Eileen?'

'Eileen Prince Snape, yes. My father was called Tobias.'

She was still leant against him. 'Do you have good memories of them?'

'Of her.'

'Does it hurt to talk about?'

'No.'

He felt a cool breeze, as though Eileen's sad and wandering shade was nearer them, closer to the land of the living through this conversation. He didn't much miss her, not emotionally, not anymore, but he suddenly felt a slight sense of...not grief, but regret, perhaps.

'My muggle Dad liked to paint, you know. Herbs and plants. You would have had a lot to talk about with him. About plants, I mean.'

'I daresay.'

'And Mum liked to cook. We used to make food together. Cakes and shepherd's pie and pasties.'

Her heart was beating faster, but only a bit. Snape thought she could handle this. She was a tough little thing, his girl, tough as a boomslang's hide. Had Lily been her mother, she'd have got that from her. The picture was burning under his skin, and the twin ghosts of his past, two of hundreds, hovered even neared them.

'I would think they must be very proud of how you've comported yourself.'

She smiled at the compliment. 'Scabior said that too.'

'Do you remember, Madam Krum, I told you about that person I once hurt very gravely?'

She nodded, and touched his arm again, clearly eager to spare him pain. Silly child, how did she think to spare him anything? Eileen had been right, and his heart beat with hers and with Lily's, the three of them, their own little family which might have been, with the girl in between them, as safe as they could make her with the strength of their love .

'I do not speak of her, as a rule. But if I did, it would be to you. And I believe, Madam Krum, that she is proud of you as well. I certainly am.'

The girl embraced him. 'Professor...'

'Hush, you foolish sentimental child.'

She closed her eyes and breathed. The pain of the thing was receding. He still felt Lily, and even Eileen, the parts he only half-remembered-a Mother who'd been fragrant and loving, and who sang, with glossy black hair and huge eyes, and who'd called him her little man.

Our girl, he thought to them, seeing the way it could have been. Our girl is all right. Lily was close, so close he could almost smell her perfume. She was next to the girl. The girl didn't seem to notice, but that was all right. Black had spoken about making families. For a few moments, Snape held his almost-child and simply existed with her, comforted and agonised that his own little family had come together, for a moment, and that he could have this, even in the form it took.

Love, he thought. He found he didn't mind carrying those hearts, after all. He'd never admit it. Love could be terrible, and he had done terrible things in its name. But when it was good, perhaps it was...not terrible at all.


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**She's home! My family member got out of the hospital and is recovering nicely. Thanks to everyone who sent us kind thoughts during that frankly terrifying time, particularly reviewer .**

Three boys were sitting in a courtyard in the Ministry, and one of them was crying. Ivan, who'd been carefully working on some sums, set down his pencil and went to see what was wrong with the other. Edric trotted solidly at his side, talking excitedly, pointing at things as he named them.

'Dog! Tree! Ivan?'

'Yes, Edric?'

Edric whined and pointed at Toma. He was very sensitive, Edric, and seeing others upset tended to upset him in turn. Ivan picked him up and they both went to check on Toma.

Someday Toma would be one of his vassals, if Zenobia never had a brother. Ivan was lord of Castle Borev now, and Papa reminded him sometimes about how important it was for him to be a good ruler to his people.

Even if Toma wasn't ever his vassal, Ivan liked him. The younger boy was only seven, but he was tall, taller than Ivan. He wasn't good at lessons but he was kind, and the other children listened to him.

'Toma?'

Toma sniffled, dragging the sleeve of his tunic across his swollen face. His toy sword lay forgot about in the dust. Edric cooed worriedly and held out his arms to Toma, who obediently took him. The baby patted his face, making soft noises.

'No no no.'

'No what?'

'He doesn't like it when people cry.' Edric buried his head in Toma's neck and closed his eyes, whimpering like he was trying not to cry himself.

'Don't cry, Edric.'

Ivan sat down under the tree. There was no school today, but Toma came here a lot. His father had fought with the old Minister Dinev, and their family was trying to get better since things had changed.

Edric lifted his head cautiously. 'No?'

'I'm all right.'

'No.' It was Edric's favourite word now, so it meant a lot of things.

'Where's Barty?'

'He's keeping Aunt Sose company since Anu's away.'

'Your aunt is nice. Does she have a husband?'

'He died a long time ago.'

Toma sat down, sliding his sword away with the toe of his shoe. 'That's sad.'

'I think so too.'

Toma jiggled Edric like Barty did. ''Do you suppose he misses his Mama and Papa?'

'I think so. He's happy here, though.'

'Is he going to marry Rada?'

'I don't know.'

Toma nodded soberly. 'It was scary, when that man put the poison in our ayran.'

'Viktor says the wolves are making sure no one else can do that.'

Toma listlessly poked at the sword with his toe. 'Everyone threw up, remember?'

Ivan did remember. 'Well, he can't hurt us now. He's dead.'

'Good. Is there going to be a war?'

What would a lord do? Papa said lords were honest with people, but careful about feelings, too. Viktor thought that as well; he told Ivan sometimes that a lord was like the father of a family. Sometimes he had to scold or punish a vassal, but otherwise he needed to give lots of attention and praise to make sure the vassals felt good about themselves.

'I don't know.'

'There was before.'

'The wolves are keeping us safe.'

'It was bad last time.'

Ivan believed that. He'd been scared enough in England, and all he'd had to do was wait. Toma had been in Castle Dinev when it fell, and whilst Ivan had only the faintest idea what had actually happened, he knew it must have been bad.

'It won't be this time.'

'Why not?'

Viktor said that when a person felt afraid, they should take a deep breath and remind themselves of how brave they are. I'm lord of Castle Borev, Ivan told himself sternly. I helped Aunt Sose entertain the ministers, and when the war came I helped Grandmama and Aunt Cunegarde. I can do this.

'My Papa's said, and he never lies. That's why he's Minister.'

Toma was poking at the dirt, drawing half-hearted pictures in the dust with a stick.

'Lord Dinev was Minister. He lied. He said Borislav would going to come home and then he didn't.'

'That's why he couldn't be Minister any more. He lied too much.'

Toma finally raised his head. 'Swear?'

'Swear. If Papa says it, or Viktor, or Hermione, then it's true.'

Toma extended a hand and they shook on it. Toma sniffled a bit more, scrubbing at his face with a grimy little hankie.

'My brother was like that.'

'Is that what you're sad about?'

Toma nodded slowly, touching the sword. 'He went to help Papa fight. There was a lot of screaming and then it stopped. We had to go find him. He was all bloody, and my Mama had to take something to go to sleep for a while.' Toma's Mama slept a lot these days.

Ivan patted Toma's shoulder. 'I'm sorry.'

Toma sniffled, rubbing one swollen eye. 'Me, too.'

'Let's go see my Papa. He can help.'

'Help how?' Toma was scared of Papa. He was scared of Uncle Penko, too. Ivan thought he suspected they had brought the armies to Castle Dinev, which wasn't true. But he'd never said that-his father and uncle hadn't, but Viktor had, and Hermione, and Toma had enough to be scared of.

'He can explain it. And he's got lokum.'

The promise of a sweet enticed Toma, so the three, with Winky and Zdratza, set off for the office. Edric walked sturdily beside them, using his new words, holding each of the older children by the hand.

Papa was reading the paper. He set it down, seeing them. 'Hello, boys.'

Toma looked at the carpet and mumbled, but Ivan was determined.

'Papa, is there going to be another war?'

Papa frowned. 'What makes you ask, Ivan?'

Ivan let go of Edric's hand and took Toma's. Toma was staring at the carpet, but he answered.

'The wolves are going away, and when that happens, there's a war.'

'Come here, boys.'

They both did, Toma a bit more slowly. He was holding Ivan's hand tightly, which was all right. Ivan had been scared all during the winter, so he knew how that was.

'It looks like there might be some problems in Britain that need outside help. Their leader is doing some bad things that are going to hurt a lot of people. We want to make sure that he can't do that anymore.'

'He's a bad man' said Ivan seriously by way of explanation to Toma. 'He's taken Uncle Martin and won't give him back.' He'd also taken Grandmama, but Grandmama was in Heaven now, so she was safe.

'So the lords are going to go and take his castle?'

'It's a little more complicated than that, Toma. When a whole country is having problems, it takes more than just a few people to help. That's why the ministers came to see if we could be friends.'

Toma was relaxing slightly. 'So my Papa doesn't have to go?'

'Not right now. No matter what happens, you will both be safe, all right?'

'And then our English family can come home?'

'I hope they can, Ivan.'

Toma was solemnly thinking things over. 'And my Papa won't die?'

'I hope that, too.'

'Borislav did. He was on a table. His head was bloody.'

Papa was rubbing his back gently. 'I'm sorry that happened.'

'That's why Mama sleeps all the time. Papa says she's too sad to be awake.'

Ivan patted his friend gently. 'Uncle Martin is sad, too.'

'When a person loses someone they've loved, it can make them very sad.'

Toma sniffled a little bit more, leaning into Papa. 'No wolves this time?'

'No wolves, Toma. These wolves are our friends now, remember?'

'Eugen is nice' said Ivan, gently prompting his friend 'and Sandru, and Ciprian, and Mihai. They keep us safe.'

Toma was nodding. 'Can I have a nap?'

'I think that's a good idea. Winky, take Toma, please, and help him get ready.'

'I'll come in a few moments, all right, Toma?' Ivan was too big for a nap, but a good lord would make sure that the younger person was settled and not going to have a nightmare.

The younger boy followed the elf, who was keeping up a cheery stream of remarks to distract him. Edric settled on the floor, playing with the blocks Papa and Uncle Penko kept to amuse him there.

' Thank you, Papa. Toma needed...something.'

He wasn't sure what, exactly. He needed his brother not to be dead, and his mother awake, and his father not sad anymore, but no one could give him that.

'He needs a friend. You're doing very well.'

'Is his Mama like Uncle Martin, Papa?'

'Something like that. Hopefully his mother will get better someday.'

'Uncle Martin won't.'

'No, probably not.'

'Does it make you sad?'

Papa nodded. 'Very sad.'

Ivan was old enough to see that adults had most of the same feelings as children, and expressed them similarly.

'And Viktor?'

'Sometimes.'

Papa patted his back absently. 'Is everything all right, Ivan?'

'Being a good lord hurts, Papa.'

'It does, doesn't it?'

'Does it hurt you this way?'

'Sometimes it does. Sometimes there isn't an answer, and good people will get hurt regardless of what we choose to do.'

Ivan nodded. 'Isn't there something I can do to help?'

'We'll find you something, Ivan, I promise.'

Ivan climbed down and went to see to Toma. He felt comforted by the idea that he could help things get better, even a little.

Near Pernik, Sose set down her sewing and rose, pressing her palms to the small of her back. Her spine popped, but it was a quiet, smooth pop, not like the former grinding, percussive snaps that used to happen whenever she moved the wrong way. The potions were helping, and she smiled, amazed that it was a real thing, and for her.

She heard the clip-clop of hooves, and saw Apples before she saw Barty. Man and goat, they were coming nearer, Barty waving merrily and Apples bleating a hello. She gave the goat's ear a scratch and then picked up her sewing basket as her elf appeared and took the thing from her to carry.

'Hello, Barty.'

'Hello, Sose. How are you?'

'Good. Hot today.'

'It is, isn't it? We're taking Edric swimming tomorrow, you know, at the sea-side. Are you going to come?'

She shook her head no, blushing at the thought of being alone with so many men. Barty didn't precisely count, and Edric definitely didn't, but still.

'Lyudmilla is coming. And there's to be a fish fry-up and fruit and games.' He smiled winningly and Sose dipped her head.

'Maybe.'

'Any news from Anu?'

'He's fine. Misses us.'

'I miss him, too.'

They went back to the castle. The bag-making enterprise was closed today; the elves were expanding it, as they were going from five hundred ladies to five thousand and then, possibly, as many as ten. Sose was numerate as well as literate these days, but she still found that sum to be huge, unimaginable. She'd never seen so many people in one place, and even the thought was a little overwhelming.

There were more preparations as well. Men were making training camps not far from here, with barracks sufficient to house and feed the truly extraordinary number of twenty thousand. That was, the children seemed to think, just a start.

Sose wasn't sure what to think of that. She was deeply impressed by everything being accomplished (and had enjoyed very much spending time with Madam Ismaili and Madam Vata, and even Osma Pasha), but she could sense the war getting closer. Her son had returned last time, and the time before, but what of this time? Suppose he should die? If he was maimed, she would gladly care for him, if need be, but if Anu died, what would she do? Her son was her world, and losing him was the worst thing she could imagine.

Apples butted her gently on the leg, sensitive to her moods. Sose patted the kid and shook off her brown study. Surely Drago would see Anu was not in harm's way. And ultimately, it wasn't up to them. She cast her eyes skyward and murmured a quick blessing for her son.

The elves were cleaning as they came back in the castle. Sose was surprised to find she liked the elves. At first they'd rather disturbed her but now they were friends, and she greeted them as they walked upstairs. They were doing a heavy clean of the whole castle, airing the rooms, scouring every scourable surface and beating the carpets. The ministers's visit had been fruitful, but rather messy.

'Do you suppose Edric is all right in Sofia? He's awfully little.'

'I think he is.'

Penko and Rumen sometimes sent for him to give the people at Castle Borev a break, and for the pleasure of having the baby about. He was quite a clever, friendly little chap, so she understood completely. Babies, she mused, make everything seem homier.

Barty sat down and picked up a crayon, poising it over the parchment. 'He's a very good baby.'

'He is.'

'Was Anu like that as a baby?'

Sose considered. 'He was very quiet. Anu. And smart.' Her son had talked early (though never much) and taught himself to help her, toddling on legs skinnier than they had any right to be, a basket clutched in his arms as he'd held it up so she could put sticks for kindling in.

'He still is.'

'Yes.'

As it got darker, Barty began to get restless. 'Should we get Edric now?'

Sose acquiesced. They would Floo to the Ministry, visit with the Krums a little, and take the short, pleasant carriage ride back. She adored riding in the carriage-the wind gently rocking one, flying high above everything but totally safe and unseen.

Stepping out of the Floo shook her firmly from that pleasant idea. It was chaos. Sose froze, eyes widening, and Barty, who was right behind, gently pressed forward, defending her against-what?

A wolf hurried up. 'My compliments, madam, sir. Minister Krum was about to send for you. May I take you to the office now?'

That shook her from her fear-stillness, at least enough that she could follow the wolf. The closer one got the office, the worse the panic got. Wolves were moving in streams, clearly preparing for something, and she could hear weeping.

Lyudmilla was the one crying. She was sitting on the divan, sobbing into her apron, chest heaving. Yana jumped up, seeing them, and ran toward Sose, flinging herself into the older woman's arms. She was crying too, bawling as though hurt. Ivan, on his mother's other side, was quiet, all big eyes.

'What-?'

Penko Krum's eyes were red. 'The Dark Lord is release Elisaveta's...Elisaveta. But he, ah, he wants a hostage in exchange. Because we have two now and he's just got the one.'

Sose's stomach seemed to melt, become a pool of molten lead. Barty, at least, wasn't paying attention. He'd picked Yana up and taken her on his lap, talking to her as she sobbed into his neck.

'Who?'

Was it her Anu? Could she do that? He must have seen her anguish, but his hand came up before he checked himself, as though to pat her.

'He wants Ivan or Yana. A child for a child, the letter says.'

'What?'

Penko nodded. 'My brother is dealing with Mcnair as we speak.'

'Do the children know?' She meant the lord and lady, not the little ones.

'Rumen is going in person. We can't...we can't surrender a child to him. We can't.'

'I'll go.'

Penko was still a second. 'You'd volunteer?'

She nodded. 'You don't need me. I mean, not like, it's-'

'Of course we need you. But let me talk to Viktor and Hermione to see what they say.'

Lyudmilla was calming a little. She rose, drying her eyes on her apron. 'I've volunteered as well, but I'm not sure we're...he's spiteful this way.'

Sose slowly extended her arms. Suppose the other woman was offended by the offer? Lyudmilla embraced her, careful not to squeeze two hard. The two women stepped back and Sose could see her own expression mirrored on the other's face; no one would take the children, no matter what.

Rumen came back in. 'He won't budge, and Mcnair is demanding an answer.'

'Are you going to go?'

'I'm Portkeying to Des's quarters right now.'

He kissed his wife's cheek and those of his son and daughter and, donning a cloak, touched an old shoe sitting on his desk. 'Durmstrang' he said, and vanished.

Sose sank down on the divan with the children and Barty. Ivan leant into her shoulder. 'Aunt Sose, it's all right. Don't be afraid.'

She touched his hair, stroking, wishing she could fix this, almost too appalled to speak. This Dark Lord, she thought, is truly a man with no besa at all. Under her hand Ivan was whimpering softly.

'I promised Toma no one would get hurt this time.'

'No one is going to get hurt.' Her own voice sounded foreign to her ears, filled with assurance she didn't have. Or did she? Her luck lately had turned, and maybe-she hoped and prayed-it would rub off on her new family. Oh, please, please.

Ivan snuggled closer. 'A good lord doesn't lie, you know.'

'No.' And a man with besa didn't steal children like an ogre in the night. War, which was now certainly closer than it had been, even an hour ago, still terrified her. But so did the prospect of a country run by a man with no besa.

Ivan climbed into her lap and she held him, and tried to think of what she could do to help.

Vaike Kask had never been the boy's school, except to pick Paavo up a few times. It was very much like the girl's version, she thought. Except for the carving, and the initials under it. She traced a finger over the entwined GG and shook her head, disturbed to think that the bloke was currently living right under where half the extended family slept.

'Weird, isn't it?'

Paavo's stick thumped up behind her. Vaike turned as her brother sat down on a bed, sighing deeply.

'The carving?'

'The whole thing. Grindelwald.'

She sat next to him. He'd pulled his leg up and was chafing the ankle with his hands, grumbling about his prosthesis. She batted his hands away and looked, using her wand to examine the red marks.

'Stop picking at it, Paavo. You're making it worse.'

'It itches, Vaike.'

'I'll have Anu watch you if you don't stop.'

'I'll throw him in the lake if you do.'

Paavo would do it, too, but only in jest, and Anu would probably find a way to drag him in after himself. Vaike determined to see this scenario played out and then turned back to badgering her twin.

'I mean it, Paavo.'

'All right, all right. You're worse than Ema half the time.'

'There's an idea. I'll write Ema and see what she says about it.'

Paavo made a face at her. 'What do you think?'

'About the English?'

'And Romanians.'

'That Vulpes woman is a bitch.'

'Weasley seems nice, though.'

'She looks at him. The Vulpes woman.'

'I saw that too.'

The dorm was cold even in summer. Vaike rubbed her arms lightly to get the blood moving again. 'They say they want to help us.'

'They've said a lot of things.'

'Think they really will?'

Paavo wriggled his leg irritably. 'Weasley seems sincere enough. The Romanians, though...'

Vaike had the same thought. 'They'd better not try to double-cross us.'

'With whom? Not the Dark Lord.'

'Not him, no. But for themselves.'

'We'd crush them and they know it.'

'There hasn't been a war of conquest in Europe in eight hundred years, Paavo.' Not a Wizarding one, at any rate.

'There's never been a standing army, either, but we're both commanders in it.'

They would have argued more but Anu's feet announced his arrival. They both rose, wands up until they saw him. There was blood gushing from his nose and he was breathing hard.

'Go to the Hall, it's an emergency.'

Vaike caught his shoulder. 'You're hurt.'

'No time, Vaike, hurry!'

He turned and sprinted out, both Kask twins at his heels. The whole group-Bulgarians, English and Romanians-were milling about. Sirius caught Anu and stopped the bleeding as Snape shook the kid by the neck sternly and hissed something at him. Anu beamed up at him, clearly revelling in it, and then Krum was getting their attention.

'I apologise for calling you all so abruptly. If the Romanians wouldn't mind stepping out, we've a situation on our hands that needs immediate attention.'

'Step out, my lord Krum? I thought Romania was to be an equal partner in things.' The remark did nothing to endear the Vulpes woman to Vaike.

'And once Romania has taken a vow to the extent, Minister, we will fill you in.' Vaike grinned at Hermione. Good girl, she thought, proud of her sort-of sister-in-law for giving it back.

'A show of good faith would surely not go amiss.'

'Nor would protecting our countries's respective privacies.'

Viktor touched her arm. 'I suppose if Romania were willing to give us a similar show of good faith, my lady, I would be comfortable letting them in.'

'My lord, I defer to your judgement in this matter.'

Hmmph, thought Vaike, not likely. She was very fond of them both, to be sure, but Hermione was the driving force in that relationship and everyone knew it. Still, it was nicely done, and when Hermione caught her eye, Vaike winked.

Drago, beside his cousin, winked as well. She could see the tension in the lines of his body; his neck was stiff, his mouth a hard line, hands fisted. He looked, she thought, pulse fluttering a bit, murderous.

'The Dark Lord has released my grandmother's remains, but he's demanding a hostage of equal like and value, because Bulgaria holds both Bartemius Crouch Jr and Edric Lestrange. He wants one of my cousins.'

Vaike stiffened, darting her eyes to Paavo, whose hands fisted. Her own hand found her wand. If she could have five minutes alone with the Dark Lord... her mouth twisted, thinking about this.

The other groups, at least, seemed to be suitably appalled. The English were whispering amongst themselves and the Romanians, with Vulpes in the middle, were doing the same.

'Digustin. What can we do, lad, to elp yer?' The half-giant, Hagrid, spoke from the back.

'What Rubeus means, my lord Krum, is that our people would like to help you to prevent this thing from happening.' A stick of a woman whose name was Mc-something.

'Thank you, Mr. Hagrid, Professor McGonagall. I'm going to open the floor to suggestions. Mr. Kask?'

Paavo had raised his hand right off. 'My lord, our army isn't ready for a large-scale invasion right now. We need a minimum of six months before our troops will be able to take the whole island and hold it for any length of time. Of course, a smaller country closer to home wouldn't pose an issue...' He looked directly at Vulpes when it said it.

'Cousin, I agree with Mr. Kask. Trying to undertake an invasion would be ruinous, even without the Dementors.'

'The Dementors pose a special problem, my lord. Any invasion force would need a method to repel them before a landing could even be contemplated, let alone the air support and any troops that actually got on the ground. It would be a bloodbath.'

Hermione touched her husband's arm gently. 'It seems as thought a military response is out, then, my lord, if you agree.'

'I do.'

'Giving them a child is likewise unacceptable.'

'I agree.'

'It seems to be the obvious answer is an impostor. Do you agree?'

'That seems to be the most obvious solution, definitely. Professor Snape?'

'I concur, my lord and lady Krum. A suitable person could be given a modified Polyjuice potion and pose as whichever child is agreed upon.'

'I'll do it.'

'You're needed elsewhere, Black. Perhaps a wolf?'

Pavel spoke from across the room. 'I would volunteer, certainly, or any of my men. Give us the word.'

Vaike raised her own hand. 'My lord?'

'Miss Kask?'

'I'm not sure that's a good idea. If we do need to invade, it might be a better idea to have the commanders with us to help figure out how to do it. The wolves are our best scouts.'

'Not to mention' said Snape thoughtfully 'I don't put it past the Dark Lord to send a wolf to check. He'll expect a trick of some kind.'

'The Polyjuice would cover the smell, wouldn't it, Snape?'

'Mostly, but as the full moon approached the person would show symptoms. How could we justify one of the children needing Wolfsbane every month?'

'And suppose the Dark Lord removes the child from Lestrange House? We could cover it as long as Ivan or Yana was with the family, but if he wants him or her moved...'

'Precisely so, my lady.'

The door to Uncle Des's quarters opened and Rumen Krum came out, hair in disarray. 'My lord and lady, I apologise for interrupting you.'

'Not at all, Uncle. Please, come in.'

They filled him in on what had happened so far, and then the debate commenced. Vaike was watching the Order and the Romanians carefully; what were they thinking, and how would it help with this?

Anu raised his hand. 'I could do it. Go.'

'No!' said no fewer than five voices at once. Anu jumped, looking half ready to cry, and Vaike reached out and caught his shoulder.

'We can't spare you! Slughorn, remember?' Sirius was making his way over, and bent to murmur something in the kid's ear. Anu relaxed, nodding immediately.

'Minister Weasley, Minister Vulpes, have you got any suggestions?'

Another voice answered. 'I'll go.'

'Ron?'

Ronald Weasley nodded. 'Lord Krum, I'll do it.'

'Ron, no!'

'They're right, Dad. It's time we stepped up. I know Hogwarts, and I speak English well enough to function. My magic won't be on file the way an adult's would be. And I want to go. It's what right.'

Weasley bit his lip. 'Ronald...'

'England is my country too.'

Rumen Krum rose and went to the red-faced Weasley boy, threw his arms about him.

'Thank you, Mr. Weasley, from the depths of my heart.'

Bulgaria had them, Vaike could see it. So the Weasley boy would go, and then what?

Minister Vulpes cleared her throat. 'I've no ideas about this, I'm afraid, but there's something about the Dementors that occurred to me just now.'

'Minister?'

'Romania has dragons. Dragon-flame might well hold them off long enough to permit ingress to Britain. If such a thing was possible.'

Vaike looked to Paavo and raised her brow. 'Told you they'd play nice' she mouthed, and her twin snorted and then turned back to the international crisis being decided.


	51. Chapter 51

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**The person I meant to thank last time was . Your thoughts are appreciated, my dear.**

**My family member is doing better but things are touch and go. We are very grateful to the doctors and nurses that helped us during the worst of things.**

**There's a shoutout in here I full expect fellow 90s kids to get. Your hint is 'I'm going to hug him and squeeze him and call him...' It's also a TV Tropes reference.**

Mother had been right, after all; Bellatrix had finally found a creature more stubborn than herself. She glared fiercely at the snake, who was holding herself at Bellatrix's height, and said loftily 'I don't feel like lying down right now.'

The snake didn't respond, body still, tongue flicking in and out. Narcissa's friendly little adder was doing likewise, watching her with curious little eyes like oil drops. Sensing a stalemate, Bellatrix decided to divide and conquer.

'George' she said to the small snake 'Narcissa is eating a haunch of raw venison in the kitchens. Don't you want some?'

The little snake immediate slithered down the leg of the small table and toward the kitchen, hissing excitedly. He came back thirty seconds later, wrapped round Hetty's arm, both woman and snake looking miffed.

'Trixie, did you promise George that Narcissa was eating raw meat and would share?'

'That sounds like something I would say.'

'Poor George! He just wanted a few bites!'

According to Hetty, the snake's name was not actually George. It was a conglomeration of hisses and spitting sounds that none of them could even faintly reproduce, so the little adder had been christened George by mutual consent. He didn't seem to mind, and it was a good deal easier than trying to hiss it.

'Elf, bring the snakes a nosh.'

A hare's kidney seemed to satisfy the formerly grumpy little adder, who swallowed it whole and then laid down, digesting, as Nagini gulped a roast of pork and then started hissing at Hetty, sometimes pointedly darting a look at Bellatrix. Bellatrix huffed.

'I feel fine.'

'Nagini doesn't seem to think so. She seems to think your bones are bothering you.'

'Well, I don't know why she thinks that.'

Nagini was still hissing. 'Trixie, are you sure that's true?'

'Hmmph.'

'Where does it hurt, Bellatrix?'

Bellatrix glowered fiercely. 'Just my hips, nothing to worry about.'

'It is, though. It's not normal to hurt.'

'I feel fine!'

'Bellatrix, it's all right. I was going to lie down. Why don't you come?'

Bellatrix opened her mouth to protest only to have Nagini opt to take a more direct course, which is to say, the snake promptly coiled about her and started for the stairs, Bellatrix caught in her wake.

'Oi! No you don't!'

Apparently she did, because Nagini continued to drag Bellatrix along beside herself, unconcerned about the loud and vociferous protests being lodged against this course of action.

Rodolphus poked his head out from the room he was writing in, his brother right beside him.

'Help me, Rodolphus!'

'Hello, love!' Rodolphus waved merrily, grinning, and Bellatrix struggled harder against the coils, which were pure muscle.

'Rabastan! Help!'

'Have a good sleep, Trixie!' The snake continued unhurriedly toward the bedroom, Bellatrix squirming and writhing in her coils.

'I'll get you both for this! Prepare to die!'

Nagini didn't relinquish her hold on Bellatrix until they were in the bed, with Hetty settled prettily on one side and the snake twined about them both, head between them. Bellatrix accepted the phial the elf brought, brooding, planning terrible vengeance.

Hetty was glowing. Giggling a little, she stroked the snake's back. 'My baby is going to start moving soon, isn't that wonderful?'

'It is.'

The damned potion was helping the throbbing in her hips but making her muzzy, blunt at the edges. She gave an experimental squirm but Nagini opened a golden eye and cocked her head ever so slightly. Resigning herself, Bellatrix went to sleep.

Bellatrix slept a little less than two hours. Waking, she found her pain was abated and she now had the energy to plot a really thorough punishment for her treacherous husband and brother in law.

'Nagini. I'm off to get Rodolphus. Want to help me?'

The snake released her from the coils but nestled closer to Hetty. Bellatrix gave the snake a pat and crept down the stairs, wand high. Halfway down the stairs she ran into Eugenia, who'd come in with a bunch of mint in a basket.

Eugenia set the basket down and drew as well. 'Trixie?'

'I'm going to get my husband and yours. Want to come?'

Eugenia fell in behind her, mint quite forgot about. It was nice, having her here, reflected Bellatrix. She'd always hated the grim silence of Lestrange House-now it was alive, if not, as she might have liked, with children's voices.

At least Hetty was allowed to visit frequently. She needed a break from the old people, and it was actually sort of fun, helping her care for herself. Bellatrix wished she could remember her pregnancy and then shoved the thought aside.

The Lestrange brothers were sitting in Rodolphus's study, going over some papers.

'So then great great great Aunt Sophelia was-'

Bellatrix burst through the door, firing hexes. 'LEAVE ME TO THE SNAKE, WILL YOU?'

'Trixie, it was a joke!' Rodolphus had always been able to parry well, she thought as she sent more curses flying at his head.

'JOKE! I'LL SHOW YOU A JOKE!'

Rabastan, more pragmatic, had promptly ducked behind cover and started firing back, forcing Eugenia to do the same. Both of them were laughing, and Bellatrix found she was smiling too.

'I'VE ALWAYS WARNED YOU THIS DAY WOULD COME!'

Suddenly her wand was being pulled from her grip, and she whirled to see Malfoy smirking down at her.

'Now now, children, no duels in the house.'

'Malfoy, give that back!'

He held it just above her head, still smirking. 'Trixie, one would almost think you needed a good nap.'

'If you don't want to be a eunuch, I'd give that back. Not that Cissy'd be able to tell the difference.'

'How elevated, Bellatrix.'

'Lucius, darling, Trixie wouldn't do a such a thing. And I assure you, Bellatrix, I would be able to tell. Lucius is very virile.'

All of them stopped and stared in shock. '**Cissy**!'

'Well, he is.'

'You see, Malfoy, what you've done? You've corrupted my sweet baby sister!'

'And with consummate skill, I assure you.'

'Lucius, really!'

'We are all married people, Rodolphus. Surely we might indulge in a bit of silliness now and again.'

'I remember your wife when she wore bows in her hair. Do try not to ruin my mental image, won't you?'

'I'll ruin more than that!' She snatched her wand back and flailed menacingly in the general direction of her husband and his brother.

'Trixie, don't kill Rod. He's writing a book about our family.'

'I could do that just as easily, and in less time.'

Rabastan laughed. 'What, about your loving relationship with Mother?'

'I wasn't the aggressor there!'

'For the first and last time, I daresay.'

'Shut up, Malfoy!'

An owl rapped the window with a taloned foot. An elf let it in, and the thing flew to Narcissa. She took the letter in its beak and gave it a scratch and a treat from the bowl of crystallised fruit on the table.

'There's a handsome fellow.'

The owl hooted politely and took off again. Narcissa slit the seal and read, brows rising. 'I am summoned to Hogwarts.'

Summoned. Who would dare summon a Malfoy, except the one person Bellatrix didn't want anywhere near her sister?

Malfoy looked upset as well. He took one of Cissy's hands and Trixie the other.

'It will be fine. Both of you are being very silly.'

No one said anything. The good humour had drained from the room like the tide receding. Eugenia came and embraced both former Black sisters, and Lucius. Bellatrix could see a hard determined gleam in the woman's eye, and nodded.

'Take a walk with us, Cissy.'

They'd do what they could in the time they had.

Viktor thought so too. He was lying facedown, shirtless, on the bed he was sharing with his wife, who was kneeling above him in just her underthings, carefully smearing warmed oil onto his back and shoulders, scolding him in her charmingly accented Bulgarian.

_'Viktor, when we go home, we are going to ask Healer Yokov about this.'_

_'I'm just achy. It's going to storm later, I think.'_

_'You need to get looked at.'_

_'I'm fine.'_

_'No.'_

_'Yes.'_

_'Kreacher_' she said, switching into English '_is Viktor fine_?'

_'No, Mistress.'_

_'See?'_

_'Kreacher worries too much.'_

_'No.'_

She finished with the oil and gently massaged it in. Viktor had broken so many bones so many times playing Quidditch that some days his joints swelled like an old person's.

_'That feels good, love_.' He could feel her bad hand gently twitching as she stroked his spine.

_'Still asking Healer Yokov about this.'_

_'No need to bother the healer.'_

_'Is so.'_

'_OW! It's not ready!'_ She was poking a blemish on his back with great determination, and called for hot towels, both to let the oil sink in and to poke him more effectively. He resigned himself and laid his head on his arms.

_'It's ready soon, then.'_

_'We could just put some salve on it.'_

_'Hmmph. Excuses.'_

He laughed and kissed her hand. _'Lie down with me?'_

She did. _'I am glad Ron volunteers. Volunteered?'_

_'Volunteered. So am I. I didn't want to send a wolf.'_

_'Nor I.'_

Crookshanks hopped up and started sniffing, rasping his tongue lightly on the back of Viktor's neck, tasting the oil. Viktor shivered at the sensation of the rough tongue.

_'No, Crooks.'_

Crookshanks blatted and laid down next to him, sighing. He had a hard life, thought Viktor, rolling his eyes, and gave the cat the chest scratch he was clearly fishing for.

_'Dragons.'_

_'Dragons_' agreed Hermione, struggling slightly with the word. _'I would like to see a dragon.'_

_'So would I. There was a king of Bulgaria, you know, who tried to turn into a dragon.'_

_'Really?'_ She grinned as she scented a tale and snuggled closer. Viktor kissed her neck and obliged her.

_'Tsar Ivan the fourth. Ivan the mad, or Ivan Brightflame. They'd just invented fiendfyre-in France, isn't it?-and he summoned three alchemists to create a potion that would allow him to turn into a dragon at will. The price of failure, he said, was that they be doused in their own creations-all of which were flammable, apparently- and set alight.'_

_'The firs two failed. The third made a draught of some kind, and the alchemist got the tsar to drink it. He waited and waited until finally the alchemist suggested that heat was needed to cause the transformation. So the tsar had them kindle a pit and leapt into it. It went like you think it did.'_

_'He turned into a dragon_?' Hermione widened her eyes and clapped her hands as though she actually thought that. Viktor laughed.

_'Yes, that's what happened.'_

_'Well, what a relief. We won't need the Romanians's dragons now.'_

Viktor laughed harder. _'Hermione!'_

_'Do you think they will really help us, Viktor?'_

_'I think they want to. And that if they're tricking us, that they know we'll retaliate.'_

Hermione kneaded his shoulder gingerly, the one he'd shattered when he was younger, and seemed to consider.

_'I hope we don't need to fight them. Is it all right if I put the charms back on? I am not sure I can do this in Bulgarian. There are words I need.'_

_'You know, a native speaker could likely teach you those words without much trouble.'_

_'Viktor!'_

_'Hermione?_'

_'Please?'_

_'Fine, but you owe me a quarter hour before bed. And I'll collect.'_

_'I know.'_

She snuggled closer and swished to restore the translation charm. 'Viktor, I'm worried about my parents.'

'So am I, love. And your Bulgarian is quite up to that sentence.'

She ignored the sally. 'No, I mean...what will they do after? Draco's to tell the Swedes and Norwegians they can head the tribunals if they'll commit the fleet to us. My parents participated in a lot of the things we mean to try, and both my uncles.'

That had occurred to Viktor as well, and more than once. 'We've already decided that the Welsh war isn't going to be tried-that was legitimate combat between hostile forces.'

'I know, but Viktor, we know what else my parents did. How can we possibly stand in public judgement of the others?'

Viktor noticed her hand was speeding up, trembling violently. 'We needn't, Hermione. The tribunals will do that.'

'I know. It's just...'

He nodded, wishing he could sit up and hug her. 'People will know about their activities subverting the regime by then.'

'I hope it's enough.'

'It will be enough.'

'I think, though...I think we're done in Britain. I don't think we'll ever be able to go back.'

'They won't, probably. We could, if you wanted to. Once Britain is under control, we could add it to the...the group, I suppose.'

Hermione gnawed her lip. 'What are we?'

'Papa asked me that. I didn't know then and don't now.'

'Sometimes I feel like they're waiting for us to say.'

'The ministers?'

'Everyone. It makes me sick.' Viktor raised up as much as he could and touched her face.

He did sit up, trusting Kreacher to catch the towels, and put his arms round her.

'What do you want to do?'

She pressed her face into his neck. 'Our duty. That's the only way things will remotely work out.'

His love for her was painfully sharp, painfully sweet and strong. 'That's right.'

'I say we don't broach the issue until someone else does. Another country, I mean. I'm content with things the way they are now, aren't you?'

Viktor had always planned on the life of a country lord, helping his tenants, having a large family and generally living quietly and well. That, he saw, would never happen, twenty years from now or a hundred.

'I am. I think-Drago sees things rightly, most of the time. I think the time will come when they offer us...something.'

'And then?'

'What do you think we should do?'

She was still curled against him. 'If we want to keep things together, we might need to take what they offer.'

'Do you want that?'

'No. But have we got a choice?'

Viktor felt Kreacher gently sponging the oil off. Already his joints had stopped creaking and his muscles were loose. The elf dropped a heat-charmed blanket over them both to seal in the medicated oil, just warm enough in the chilly room. Durmstrang's stones were cold even in summer.

'I had thought...hoped...that at the end of twenty years, Bulgaria would be stable and we could retire. We'd be in our thirties, young enough to live another seventy or eighty years as private citizens, or travel, or do whatever we liked.'

'Now, though, I see that that wasn't realistic. We've united most of Europe and the rest is falling into line. We can't...things aren't going to just go back to how they were. When things are over, someone needs to rule. We've the manpower, the training and the ability. I think running away would be...we can't.'

'I don't want to run away.'

'I do. I think about it sometimes.'

She raised her head. 'To farm pigs?'

'Or goats, or just be normal people. Find a little house, have children someday. Not have to worry about what people are up to.'

She pressed against him again. 'That does sound nice.'

'It does, but so does a peaceful Europe. Our children could inherit a world that's better than this. That is in our power to give them, if we're lucky.'

'I'd like for the wolves to be full citizens.'

'In Bulgaria, they are.'

'And only Bulgaria. That's hardly right, Viktor.'

He smiled a little. Only his wife could be brought out of a grey mood by a wrong to be righted. He loved that about her, to be sure, but sometimes he thought about what his mother had said of her the night Lestrange House had burnt, called her a sweet, shy little thing, and had to grin a bit.

'I agree, definitely. It's something we can work on.'

Hermione nodded against him. 'Thank you, sweet. I feel better.'

Then her hands dipped a bit lower.

'Hermione, ow!'

'Told you it was ready.

Outside, Anu was showing Sirius about Durmstrang. Sirius sometimes changed and bounded after a hare, or else greeted Fang, Mr. Hagrid's dog. Mr. Hagrid himself was visible on the horizon, looking at the various animals that lived in Durmstrang's park. Anu had never met a half-giant before, but he seemed nice enough, and the dogs liked him.

'He was your teacher, Sirius?'

'He was one of them. He was the gameskeeper at Hogwarts.'

'Is he as nice as he seems?'

'He is.'

Sirius had been very quiet lately. Anu thought it had something to do with the exiles, especially the quiet fellow Paavo said was a werewolf. Enver thought so too, but Anu meant to ask. At some point in the future, because Sirius seemed to be in a bad place for questions at the moment.

Anu offered Sirius some of the lump of lokum he'd had wrapped in his pocket. Sirius munched, still quiet.

'Sirius? Are you all right?'

'Fine, kid. Just thinking.'

The heron who lived in the lake flew overhead, a fish in his jaws. Anu wished he could find something, anything, to say to help Sirius, who was so kind to him and so clever, and whom Nene liked.

'What about you?'

'Glad I don't have to go to England. Is that wrong?'

'No. I'm glad you aren't as well.'

Anu nodded, moving a little closer to Sirius. 'Snape says if I don't stop trying to get myself killed, he's going to take a stick to me.'

Sirius laughed. 'That sounds like him.'

They waited another few moments and then Sirius sat down on a grassy hummock. This was not far from the place where Anu had hid a year ago in order to be able to see Hermione, whom he'd immediately liked. Not spying, exactly, just a desire to look at the pretty girl. And when he'd seen Sven and Ilya coming he'd crouched and watched where he'd meant to go, sure something would happen.

'Anu?'

'Sirius?'

'How are you doing with all this, kiddo? The war that's coming?'

Anu watched the heron circle above them, arrogant and distant as a king. 'I'm ready, Sirius. What about you?'

'It's hard. Britain is going to bleed no matter what happens.'

'I'm sorry, Sirius.'

'So am I. If I asked you a favour, kiddo, would you do it?'

Anu looked at him from the corner of his eye. 'What is it?'

'If I could find a way that would ensure you didn't need to fight when the time comes, if you could stay here and help defend the capital or something, would you do it?'

'Can't.'

'If I get Viktor to agree?'

'Can't. Ask me anything else, Sirius, but not this.'

'I thought you'd say that. I, err, I've been thinking about things and I...I've lost so many people to this. My parents, my brother, my best friends, my godson.'

'Kiddo, their choices were made a long time ago. You don't have to...there's not a thing I can do to sway you, is there?'

Anu felt his eye tearing. 'No.'

'You're thirteen.'

'I know. But they took Nene and me in and gave us a home. I'm not a bastard now. I **owe **them.'

Sirius touched his chin like Snape was prone to do. 'What you owe them is not getting killed.'

'I might not be able to do both, Sirius.'

'I know. I couldn't protect Reg and I couldn't protect James and I couldn't protect Lily or Harry. I can't protect the others, but kiddo, I'm not sure I can keep watching the people I love die.'

Anu's eye was overflowing. He flung his arms round the man and held on, knowing how it felt like everything was going insane and no option was a good one. He and Nene had faced the question of either facing the wolves with the other villagers or try to flee, and it had felt like this.

'Black, what have you done to the boy? Were you regaling him with terrible stories of your idiotic exploits ? I won't have you corrupting him, I warn you right now.'

Anu stepped back drying his eye and then hugged Snape as well. He felt loved, surrounded by people who liked him and wanted him and were kind. Snape gave one of his strange, awkward hugs back.

'I'm all right, Professor. We're all doing as well as we can.'

'Not if Black is planting ideas in your head, boy.'

Sirius seemed like he'd perked up a bit, at least. 'My stories are amazing. Oi, kid, did I ever tell you about the time we turned our Charms master bright green?'

'You did?'

'Black, really! Don't encourage this sort of subversive thinking.'

'What we did was-'

'Black!'

'Snape!'

'Why did you turn him green?'

'It was a good colour on him. We got two months' detention for it, though. So you see, crime never pays. Unless it's fun.'

'Was it fun?'

'It was loads of fun.'

Snape glowered and the three of them headed for the school, laughing and talking. None of them saw Hagrid slipping off, shaking his head.


	52. Chapter 52

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

** A few notes on werewolves as pertain to this story:**

**If I were to ever do a spin-off of this piece, it might well be to explore the idea of werewolf identity politics. I'm picturing a sort of continuum of position here in that regard. On one end is Remus Lupin, who rejects everything wolfish about his nature, identifies as fully-human and wants only to live a quiet, normal life in obscurity.**

**One the other end, Fenrir Greyback is conciously chosing to make himself as close to an animal as he can. He identifies as a werewolf first and foremost, and deliberately casts away all human mores to live the law of the jungle. He sees himself as a predator and weaker beings as his flock of sheep.**

** Pavel and his men are in the middle. They feel that, because they did not choose to become wolves they deserve the benefit of the doubt in terms of being integrated into society, with the same rights and privileges as their human compatriots. They also feel it is valid for them to express (safely and legally) their wolven tendencies, as long as they don't infringe on the rights of others.**

***A small star shoots across the screen* The more you know...:)**

A lot of people didn't get why Eugen Arco was his second. Pavel, sitting next to Rita, nodded to men in the yard to start the demonstration. They did, the hundred who'd come that morning moving in precise lock-step across the yard.

The Minister, at least, seemed to get it. She was darting nervous looks at him-at them-and then watching as the wolves turned precisely and came back. This was more or less a show, and everyone knew it-their real strength was guerrilla combat, sheer physical power and aggressiveness.

Pavel held up a hand and the whole group stopped. He nodded to Eugen and Sandru, who stepped out, bowed, and then it began. The two wolves circled one another, snarling, and then Arco sprung. He was short, almost as short as Scabior, and slight, but he offset his disadvantages with speed and sheer viciousness.

To anyone who wasn't a wolf, the fight would have looked incredibly brutal, as though the two were mauling one another. Had it been a real fight, it would have been; but this was a demonstration, a step above wrestling for fun.

Sandru was four inches taller and three stone heavier, and he was good in a brawl. He swung back, trying to dislodge Eugen, get him on his back to press his neck and win the fight. Eugen dodged and came at him from the side, trying to fishhook with his legs to bring down the larger man.

Sandru lashed out with his nails, drawing blood. Pavel felt his nostils flare, the predator in him waking up at the scent. Beside him, Rita gasped and he gently touched her arm, calming her.

Eugen attacked again, using his own nails, darting his head forward as though to bite. Sandru dodged back and used his leverage to hit Eugen's forehead, sending him reeling back.

Eugen fell, but leapt up again and pounced, snarling, his momentum driving both men to the ground. Sandru flipped them, pinning Eugen under him, head snapping back as Eugen punched him. He shook it off and drove his fist under Eugen's arm, prompting a yelp of pain and a renewed snarl, as Eugen brought up his head and headbutted Sandru, using the resultant moment of startlement to flip Sandru and press an arm to his neck, winning the fight.

Sandru raised a finger, the symbol for a surrender, and both men stood up and embraced, laughing and congratulating one another about the fight. Eugen fixed Sandru's split lip and Sandru healed his bruises, already forming.

'Impressive' breathed Rita, leaning into Pavel. He leant back, eyes still on Vulpes and her cloud of assistants.

'We've got five thousand like them back home.'

'These are the best, though?'

He nodded. 'My lieutenants.' This was the private bodyguard that served the not-exactly-royal family, and even then, not all of them. They'd left half home to guard the Krums still in Bulgaria.

Dorina Vulpes was still watching them, watching him, with a slightly sick, nervous look on her face. Pavel grinned and waved and Rita followed suit, giggling a little.

'She's a dreadful bitch, is she?'

'No, just in over her head. I think she thought once Romania was done with us that we'd just vanish like the mist. It didn't work out that way, so she's nervous we're going to start mentioning things.'

'Are you?'

Pavel grinned. 'Of course. Like I've said, we're wolves, not dogs. If a dog is maltreated, he'll stay where he is because he accepts being the omega of the pack. If a wolf is maltreated, he'll strike out on his own and finds a better pack to be part of. Biology is destiny, my dear.'

Rita probably didn't know what biology was, but she nodded. He could smell her desire for him and it pleased him enormously, and saddened him, because she couldn't stay forever and he felt like sending her back would be a terribly betrayal.

In his less-worthy moments, Pavel sometimes considered biting her. Not to hurt her, of course, but because she couldn't go back infected. And in Bulgaria, a person could have a damned good life as a wolf. He struggled as it was against the temptation to nip her during their love-play. Sometimes he did, but he was careful never to break skin.

When two werewolves mate, foreplay is usually not like it is with humans. Of course, a lot of it is similar-kissing, caressing, touching, snuggling-but some of it is...not. Wolves mark their mates with claws and teeth, and whilst Rita had left some gouges in him (which he treasured and thought a very good sign), he could hardly do the same to her without potentially giving her the virus. And scarring her, as wolves are resistant to scarring and humans are not.

Ultimately, he'd decided, he couldn't do that without her prior consent. It would be a violation of the profoundest kind, taking her species from her, and unless she asked him, he'd keep his blood to himself.

The English had come as well, and they clustered a bit away from the Romanians, speaking softly. Pavel could hear some of it.

'They're impressed with us.'

'They should be. That was frightening.'

She smelt aroused, not afraid, but it was a thin line, and none of these people had ever met the wolves in their personal lives, and knew how shy Eugen was, or that Sandru liked to teach math classes at the Ministry, and spent four hour a week showing Ivan Krum how to keep the books of his own castle.

Pavel stood and went to the Lord Protector, who was watching it all impassively. 'My lord?'

'Well done, all of you. Are Sandru and Eugen all right?'

'Fine, fine. We're a sturdy people.'

'I know, but we worry.'

It was the subject of great (if affectionate) amusement amongst the wolves that their humans really did seem to worry. Pavel knew as soon as the spectators were gone the Vicereine's mad elf would be chasing the two fighters with potions for bruising and pain, and probably bully Sandru into blood replenishers and who knows what else.

'We appreciate it, my lord.'

Krum waved away the thanks. 'The Vicereine and I are going to talk with Minister Vulpes later. Do you want to join in?'

'I would, very much.'

Pavel watched him as he lumbered back to his wife, shoulders oddly rounded. He was going to help the kids put the thumbscrews to the Vulpes woman if it was the last thing he ever did.

Rita brushed his hand lightly. 'Nicolae?'

'Rita?'

'Something the matter?'

'Quite the opposite.'

Pavel grinned. He felt very strong and very competant, dangerously alive. He could smell Vulpes, and she smelt like fear. He liked it.

Alise was not nearly so happy. She was stroking Lem's forehead, feeling sorry for him. He wiped his eyes a little, sniffling. 'E were such a gud lil bloke. Pushin is spool an all. Ridin me shoulders and nibblin me air. Member that?'

'He was a good rat, Lem.'

'Course e was.'

She stroked his head a bit more. 'I'm so sorry.'

'M sorry too. Oughts t ave guessed e weren't a normal rat when e lived s'long.'

'None of us knew.'

'Sorry I dint pertec you better, too. E dint never touch you?'

She shook her head. 'What did he do?'

'Pe'er Pet'igrew were a member a the Order. E gave up his best mate an is mate's bird and the kid oo the Dark Lord is in rite now.'

'Who was Hermione's friend Harry.'

'Rite. E gave em up to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord tried to kills the boy an it...came back on im, I thinks. Sumhow, dunno. Anyway, everybody thought it were Black did it, an e went to Azkaban jus like I did.'

'For killing Harry's parents.'

'Yeah. Cept now it looks like it weren't Black atall, but Pet'igrew.'

'So he faked his death and turned into Chum?'

'Seems as e did. I found the lil fella at Ogwarts and took im cause I felt bad fer im.'

'When did Snape find out?'

'Dunno. E dint seem like e dint know before, did e?'

Alise ran her fingers through his hair. 'Maybe he knew you were the best person he could trust with Pettigrew.'

'Mebbe so. I'm gonna miss the lil bloke. Member e used to climb t Pip's cage an steal is seed?'

Alise had spent a number of hours chasing Chum down from doing just that. She made a sympathetic noise and kept stroking. Lem snuggled back, looking up at her.

'Ow are you doin with this, then?'

'Fine. I'm sorry about Chum but he never hurt us. I felt bad for Sirius, though. He looked like he wanted to kill Pettigrew.'

'Doan blame im. Man ought to gets t commit the murder e went down fer.'

'Maybe he will.'

Lem nodded sagely. 'Mebbe e's waitin fer is moment. Gud on im, if e is. S'was my mistake, gettin angry when I shudda wai'ed.'

Alise was comfortable with the knowledge of what her husband had done. They both had a past, and since he had respected hers, she did likewise. If he wanted to discuss it, he'd bring it up.

'Well, that was a long time ago. What's important now is things are looking better all the time.'

He nodded, eyes closed. 'Mmm hmm. Mebbe we'll get us another rat or sumthin.'

'I'd like that.'

'Me, too. Ave t teach im to chase the spool, though.'

'And ride our heads.'

'An ride our eads. Mebbe this one wont eat everythin what aint tied down r on fire.'

She laughed a little bit, nodding. 'Remember when he ate that cake?'

'Where'd e puts it all? Alf a 'ole cake, it was, and jam and chocolate too.'

She'd been livid when Chum had bored a hole through her cake and eaten the filling, but looking back it was funny. 'We know now.'

'E makes a andsomer rat than e does a bloke, I thoughts.'

'Me, too.'

They cuddled a bit more and then Alise went to check on Hermione and the others. She was glad Durmstrang hadn't taken her. It was sinister, dark and cold even in high summer, and the shadows seemed to ooze from the stones. There was Darkness here, she sensed, though from the building or the people she couldn't tell.

Crookshanks crossed her path, following the cat animagus determinedly. Alise curtsied politely.

'Good day, Professor McGonagall.'

The woman changed back. 'Madam Scabior, please call Crookshanks off. He is courting me most persistently.'

Crookshanks rubbed the woman's boots and sang a few warbling notes, eyes large and interested. Making a disgusted noise, the teacher bent and rubbed his neck gently.

Crookshanks purred rustily, tail flicking. Alise scooped him up and nuzzled his ruff. He smelt like cat, a smell of dust and sunlight and secret places. He nuzzled back, still purring. It felt like love to her, simple uncomplicated love.

'He is a very handsome tom, to be sure. Where did Madam Krum get him?'

'He was a gift from her mother.'

'Have you met Madam Lestrange?'

'I have.'

Professor McGonagall stroked Crooks's ears. 'She is kind to you?'

'They all are.'

The woman looked away, reflecting. 'Your husband was a student of mine.'

'He's said that.'

'I wish I might have helped him. I did not realise until he spoke up, the pain I had caused by not seeing...things.'

Alise hugged Crookshanks. She didn't know what to make of this old woman, who reminded her of Osma Pasha, or of a past she was happy to be ignorant of. Lem was good to her, and whoever and whatever he'd been before was not relevant to them now.

'I would very much like to rectify that error, Madam Scabior. If there was something I could do for your husband or yourself...'

'I will pass the message on to him, Professor.'

'Thank you. And perhaps take Crookshanks with you?'

'Do you like it? Being an animagus, I mean?' She hadn't quite meant to blurt it out, but she thought being a cat could be quite pleasant. Or a bird, perhaps, a sparrow or a cute little finch.

'Very much. It's freeing.'

Crookshanks wriggled down and landed nimbly on his stubby legs. He blatted at the Professor and she sighed, exasperated.

'I shan't marry you, Crookshanks, but a walk will be fine.' She said her goodbyes, transformed and took off, tail high. Crookshanks followed, coming up alongside her to nudge her with his head. As Alise watched, their tails briefly twined before the Professor pulled away, tossing her head.

Alise continued her search. Everything here was plain to the point of austerity-hard ugly benches, no flowers, no fountains. Spartan, she thought, and called her elf to keep her company. The Scabiors had two; one was a sort of housekeeper and cook that was Lem's before they married and one, a gift from Hermione, who was a body servant and chaperone like Kreacher.

She found her friend in a wide field, elf beside her. Hermione was looking determinedly at the horizon. As Alise watched, she raised her wand and took a deep breath.

'Expecto Patronum!'

Her wand flashed weakly but that was all. No Patronus. Hermione had spotted her and waved. Alise waved back and jogged over, elf bobbing beside her, looking displeased at this whole idea.

'Hello, Alise, Moppy.'

'Hello Hermione, Kreacher.'

The elves, who hated one another, greeted the humans and went back to glaring. Hermione seemed a bit abashed to have been caught failing at something. She shifted, twisting her neck as though to crack it.

'How is Scabior taking the news about Chum?'

'He's sad, but it's better not to have him with us if he's really...you know.'

Hermione nodded. 'I understand.'

'How was it with the wolves?'

'Brilliant. Minister Vulpes looked ready to cry when the fight started.'

'Who won?'

'Arco, by a hair.'

Alise wasn't surprised. Lem and Eugen sometimes play-fought, and as good as Lem was, he'd never bested Eugen in sheer strength and viciousness. Which was funny, because the wolf was the shyest man she'd ever met-he went bright red when a woman talked to him, and stuttered in the presence of more than one lady at a time.

'Are you meeting with them again tonight?'

'Tomorrow. We're going to work on this thing with Britain tonight. I wanted a little practice before then.'

Alise had never conjured a Patronus but then, she'd never needed one. Hermione explained the theory and Alise did as she said, gathered a happy memory of baking cookies with her mother, and swished hard. A small burst of light shot forth from her wand and then fizzled.

'Good, Alise. That's a start.'

Hermione didn't sound as cheerful as she normally was about magic. Alise looked at her sidelong, preparing to give her a hard time if need be. Hermione seemed to sense it and occupied herself elsewhere for a moment.

'Crookshanks is bothering your Professor McGonagall. She says he's courting her.'

'He's a very clever boy, he knows quality when he sees it.'

They both laughed a bit. 'Shall we try again?'

By the end, Alise could produce a sort of small glowing ball for a moment. It looked, she thought, pretty lame, but Hermione was excited for her. The best she could do, confided her friend, was a blob, and it wasn't even a very bright blob.

'You'll get better, Hermione.'

'We both will. Anyway, shall we head back?'

Alise had heard about Arbanas and Loftstrom's attempt to attack Hermione by the lake. She had met them both briefly and had the impression that that Drago and his father had probably done...things...to them. She approved, but wondered if her friend was bothered by the memories of that day.

'No' said Hermione when asked. 'I beat them both and Draco and my uncle...they never did it again.'

'I know.' Alise slid a hand into her friends and squeezed. Hermione smiled tiredly.

'I'll be glad when we're back home, won't you?'

'Baba would like it if you came for dinner some night, you and Viktor. Lem and I will be there too.'

'I'll mention it to Viktor and we'll make a time.' Hermione liked visiting Alise's grandma, which pleased Alise to no end. Baba was a wonderful lady, and it delighted her to have people to cook for, even if they were wizards with strange manners.

Sirius-Salazar bounded from a bush and bowed to them. They both scratched his ears and then he turned back. 'Hello, girls. Alise, love, is Scabior all right?'

'He's sad, but better to know that not know. I'm sorry about what happened.'

'So am I, dear heart, so am I. Thank you, though. Hermione, I thought Ron and yourself and I could spend some time before we terrify the Vulpes woman.'

'I'd like that.'

Alise made her goodbyes and went to check on her grieving husband, to give him his old teacher's message and tell him about her blob of light.

Ron Weasley wasn't sure what to expect when he met with Sirius Black and Hermione, who was now, terrifyingly, the head of a country. She swept in and kissed his cheek in greeting, and then settled beside Sirius, tom cat on her knee. He could smell perfume on her, and face powder. And power, something that seemed to buzz in the air all about them like a swarm of bees, sleepy and contained...for now.

Sirius reverently brought out an album done in peeling black faux-leather. He set it on the table between them. Headmaster Feathering's rooms weren't luxurious but they were cosy and private, and no one would bother them whilst they were there.

Sirius opened the album. Unfamiliar faces smiled up at them, a few of them stirring a chord in Ron's memory. 'Is that Harry's dad?'

'James, yes. That's Remus Lupin-you know him, Ron. He was a good friend of James's and mine. And that's Peter.'

'Chum, you mean?' Hermione cocked her head and gently stroked the picture with her fingertips as she said it.

'He was then.'

Those pictures weren't as bad as the ones at the back. Ron hadn't known those people, after all. He was sorry they'd died and Sirius had gone to prison, but it wasn't like with Harry, where the pain of it, dulled, could roar back to life in an instant.

'That was the day we made those snow witches, remember, Hermione?'

'I do.' She smiled sadly at the picture of the three of them apple-cheeked and giggling, arms about one another. Her hat was askew and Harry's comforter was twisted strangely, but all of them looked happy and young and free.

'Snape came and took points off for...something.'

'He claimed they were too near the path.'

'That was it! And poor Neville fell down and couldn't get up again.' They both laughed at the mental image of poor Neville flailing about in the snowbank, looking like a bear cub in all his cumbersome woollen layers.

'Is he all right? Neville?'

'He is. Same as he always was.'

'That's good.'

An awkward silence until Sirius cleared his throat. 'Tell me about him?'

'About Harry?'

'He was my godson, you know. Is, if he's still...if he still lives, somehow.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'I had no idea, Sirius!'

'I know. It...you'd enough to deal with, darling. And grief keeps.' His voice sounded sad and gently understanding. Ron felt a terrible compassion for the man just then; he was in pain and admitting it, and hearing about their old best mate could help a little.

Hermione nodded briskly. 'He was very kind, Sirius. Remember, Ron, when those third years were picking on Susan Bones and Harry scared them off?'

'Yeah. He did stuff like that a lot, didn't he?'

'And he loved that owl. Hedwig, wasn't it?'

'Hedwig, that's right. She used to sit on his shoulder and pluck at his eyebrows.'

'She was grooming him like he was her chick.'

Ron nodded. There was a lump in his throat, suddenly. 'Yeah. And that time she brought that vole in she'd caught and shared it with us? We were doing h-homework, and we-'

Hermione reached across Sirius to cup his shoulder. 'It's all right. She dropped half a vole on his Charms book. It was horrible. Lavender was screaming and that awful cat of Katie Bell's tried to fight Hedwig for it.'

'And Harry separated them and gave the vole back. He was good at things like that.'

'Tea at Hagrid's, too, remember? He always let us come in.'

'Hagrid was close to Harry?'

'He was. Hagrid was always so kind to him. To all of us, really, but Hagrid knew how it was to feel different, I think.'

Ron nodded as she talked. 'Those awful rock cakes. Harry never wanted to hurt his feelings so he'd hide them in his pockets. They tore the seam one time, remember? Peasy mended them for him.'

Sirius was crying quietly. 'S'all right. Go on. Please.'

Hermione rested her head on her cousin's shoulder a moment. 'He was funny, too. He made us laugh. He could talk us into anything, but he always made us laugh. Remember the suit of armour, Ron?'

Ron snorted. 'McGonagall put a flea in our ears about that.'

'Not mine,'

'She should've! Just because you've that innocent face-'

'And a perfect track record until Harry corrupted me.'

'Harry corrupted you?'

She nodded, grinning. 'He convinced us we should scare the Slytherins by animating a suit of armour. We were trying to scare Draco, actually.'

'Did it work?'

'We got it to move, but it wouldn't stop. McGonagall figured out it was us and the boys got detention.'

Sirius laughed, still sniffling. 'That's something James would've loved. Why didn't you?'

'She refused to believe Hermione had anything to do with it! This was early in the year. It was an outrage.'

'I gave you both sweeties after.'

'Sugar-free!'

'It tastes the same.'

'Does not.'

Sirius was patting them both gently on the back. 'How were his marks?'

'Not bad. Harry was clever but he didn't like school much.'

'Lily wouldn't have liked that. She was quite like yourself, Hermione.'

A strange look crossed Hermione's face, but only for a second. 'She was a muggleborn too-well, not too-wasn't she?'

Sirius touched her cheek. 'She was.'

Ron could sense there were stories within stories here, tales within tales to which he was not privy. He didn't ask but instead gently turned a page.

'Did he like girls?'

'No, but we were eleven, Sirius. None of us liked the opposite sex yet.'

'Susan liked him, though. She used to follow him, remember? And he was never cruel about it to her.'

'It wasn't in him to be. He was nice to everyone.'

There weren't all that many pictures of them. They'd had less than a year, after all, together. Ron knew it as a kind of grace that he'd ever got to see Hermione again, let alone talk to her, but he found himself wishing painfully that Harry could be here as well, could share the odd pain-pleasure of this meeting.

'I was impressed with you, that you volunteered.'

Ron blushed a little. 'Someone has to go.'

'My family will help you, Ron. Professor Snape is the best at what he does.'

Ron tried to find a polite answer. His memories of Snape were not pleasant, but Hagrid swore up and down he'd seen the one-eyed kid hugging the greasy bat like he was a normal person, and Snape had hugged back and not punched him like Ron would have assumed.

Hermione leant over, gently bypassing Sirius, and took his hand for a second. Her eyes were wet, and deep, and Ron had to remind himself of what she was now, and what they were to one another.

'Thank you, Ron. It's so kind of you to volunteer.'

He dropped his eyes, cheeks burning. 'Well.'

'I mean it.'

'He's a kid, Hermione. It's not right.'

'No, but soon it will be better.'

He brought his eyes up. She was looking at him and he could see in her traces of who she had been, the bold, frizzy-haired little girl who'd once tried to hold hands with him. He'd shaken her off, he remembered, and ruefully shook his head.

'I hope so.'

'So do I.' Sirius put an arm round each of them and hugged. 'And if Harry is still in there somewhere, I can't wait to tell him about how brave you both were.'

An elf told them Snape was at the door. Ron stiffened as the bat billowed in, all greasy hair and scowling expression. A weird thing happened, though, when he saw Hermione and Sirius, which is to say, he seemed to kind of...well, scowl less.

'My lady Krum, I am recalled to Britain to act as intermediary between the Dark Lord and yourself in the matter of young lord Borev.'

'Will you return?' She sounded like this would be a good thing.

'As rapidly as possible. Black is staying, and you've the others to help you.'

'I know.'

Snape extended a hand and pressed something into Hermione's. 'I was hoping you might hold these for me, my lady.'

Hermione actually leant over to embrace the manky tosser. 'Of course, Professor.'

Snape hugged her back. Ron felt sure his eyes were bulging from his head.

'Surely, Mr. Weasley, you are familiar with the concept of not staring like a hayseed at the harvest fair?'

'I, err, sorry.'

'You ought to be. Tell me, has your potioning improved?'

'I'm third in my class.'

'Of three?'

'Of forty two.'

Snape nodded once. 'Better. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day.'

'Professor, really!'

'I've a reputation to uphold, Madam Krum.'

'Ron is helping us.'

'And I will do my utmost to facilitate that, to be sure, but I will not give up my position as the devil in this particular pantheon anytime soon, madam.'

She laughed as though he'd made a joke. 'Send them my love, Professor.'

'Those that love you carry your heart in theirs, my lady.'

'And theirs in mine.'

Snape turned without another word, nodded once to Sirius, and was gone. Ron wasn't quite sure what had just happened. Hermione watched the foul bastard go, and then sat down.

'Ron?'

Ron shook his head. 'Didn't you set him on fire once?'

And then they were laughing, all three of them, and Ron felt like maybe this breech could be mended, after all.


	53. Chapter 53

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**This chapter was a lot of fun to write. I sort of want to be all these women when I grow up. Even Nagini. Especially Nagini...:)**

Narcissa Malfoy smoothed her robes and gave Nagini a wink. The snake dipped her head, hat moving slightly. She pushed it back with a flick of her tail and then slithered carefully ahead, keeping pace with Narcissa and the glowing, smiling Hetty.

Hetty peeled off at the Hufflepuff Common Room. 'I have not spoken to the Friar in forever, darling.'

Nagini paused, clearly displeased by this, but followed Narcissa, expressionless face somehow clearly telegraphing displeasure. Perhaps, mused Narcissa, caressing the snake's graceful neck, I have spent enough time with George to know now. She missed the comforting weight of her little adder in her pocket, his head poking up to flick the air with his tongue.

The Dark Lord didn't rise to greet them. Narcissa knelt and kissed his hem, feeling the hatred welling in her heart, like ink in milk, a stain that spread to make the other things in its wake dark and tainted.

'Narcissa, We are so pleased to see you. And Nagini.' He hissed and the snake hissed back, tipping her head this way and that to show off the hat she'd liberated from Umbridge.

'Mmm, how droll. Tell Us, Narcissa, what news from Bulgaria?'

'No word, my lord.'

'No? How sad for you. And Draco?'

'Well, and thankful of a chance to prove his worth to your lordship.'

'Metellus thinks his ideology is quite good.'

'Lucius and I have ever strove to teach him well, my lord.'

'By example?'

'Sometimes, my lord.'

'Your son, Narcissa, thought he saw you fighting alongside your husband in Bulgaria. Can this be true?'

'It is, my lord.'

'And did you fell the enemy?'

'A number of them, my lord.' She didn't like to think about that day very much, but neither did she shrink from it; it was what it was, and she'd done her part. More, she wanted to say, than you, you traitorous monster. But of course she didn't.

'Attilius Goyle said a woman who fights is like a dog walking on hind legs. One doesn't expect it to go well, but truly it is marvellous to see it done at all.'

Narcissa bit down on her tongue. Beside her, Nagini was slithering closer, scenting her anxiety. The Dark Lord was smiling, clearly hoping to upset her. She sat up a bit straighter on her heels and vowed not to so much as blink.

'We have decided, Narcissa, that Bulgaria is not keeping its end of the deal. We have got the boy's father, but he has two of Our subjects. Isn't that so?'

'It is, my lord.' Her throat was getting smaller and tighter all the time.

'We have decided it is only fair the Bulgarian hand over another hostage. He's two cousins, We understand. A boy and a girl. Is that right?'

Oh no. No. 'It is, my lord.'

'Excellent. You will help us, Narcissa. You will speak to the girl and demand she hand over one of the children.'

Black dots swam into Narcissa's field of vision, threatening to blind her. Her heart was a great, slow drum. She vaguely felt Nagini coiling her, helping her stay up. She swayed a second, trying to force air into her lungs.

Like Hell I will, she thought viciously. Like Hell I will. 'My lord, I will help you in whatever way I might.'

'Of course you will. Fenrir?'

She smelt him before she saw him. He smelt of old dirt, body odour and fresh blood. Nagini hissed dangerously, head swaying, clearly threatening to strike. Narcissa stroked the snake's side. Let me do it, she willed the snake to understand. Let me do it for now.

'Why, Nagini, this is Our friend Fenrir. He's going to help Narcissa's family. Isn't that nice?'

The snake stopped hissing but her eyes never left the werewolf. He raised hands with nails that had been sharpened, caked with black muck and something maroon and evil-smelling. Narcissa could guess what it was.

Greyback laughed, tongue lolling. He slowly licked a finger as she watched. 'Bit of a late lunch.'

Nagini coiled her tighter. Narcissa stared coldly at the werewolf, saying nothing, mentally comparing him to the clean, polite, gently-spoken wolves that served her niece and nephew. This...thing...was light-years from those men, and from anything human. Narcissa kept looking at him, knowing that to show him fear would be to give him an invitation, to make herself his prey.

'Mr. Greyback, I don't believe we've been formally introduced.'

'You're braver than you look. Runs in your family, like.'

'Indeed.'

'How'd a woman like you marry a milksop like Malfoy?'

'I've no idea what you mean, I'm sure.'

Greyback boomed laughter, the stench from his mouth like a charnel pit. 'Balls you don't.'

He stepped closer. 'I go home with her, then?'

'Only until we've got the child. Narcissa, is it true Madam Feathering is here with you?'

'It is.'

'You know, being bitten does terrible things to pregnant women. Terrible things. Did you know that?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Collect Madam Feathering and back you go, Narcissa. Fenrir will join you there.'

Greyback beat them to Lestrange House, which was rather the epicentre of things these days. He was standing on the steps, arms crossed over his chest. Elves were gathered about him, hissing dangerously at him.

'Enough, elves. This is a guest.'

The werewolf followed behind the women as they walked into the foyer. Narcissa could hear upraised voices, her sister's and husband's and then a soft answering voice in reply.

'Lucius? Bellatrix?'

Lucius came out into the corridor and lost a shade when he saw Greyback. 'Narcissa, Hetty.'

'We've a visitor.'

'We've quite a few, actually.' He sounded sick, and then she saw them, spread out through the room.

Narcissa pushed back her shoulders, raised her chin and swept after her husband, prepared to take on the world if it meant she'd be keeping the children safe.

Hetty trailed after her, keeping an eye on Nagini, who was slithering alongside her, ranting furiously.

_/man-wolves in brood-den smell bad scare naginis humans/_

_/nagini bites them if they touch humans or take food/_

Hetty could hear the other snakes, a dozen at least, whispering from the eaves and nooks of the house. She couldn't hiss to warn them, but she hoped they wouldn't attack unless provoked. She couldn't bear to see them hurt, and they were too valuable to lose to these terrible interlopers.

Greyback was grinning. His teeth were sharp and brown, flecked with bits of things that bore no thinking about.

'Is it true that cunt Pavel works for your girl?' He directed the question to Rodolphus, whose arm was about Bellatrix's shoulders protectively.

'I wouldn't know, Fenrir.'

'Like shit you wouldn't.'

Greyback rubbed his hands, small flakes of rust red dropping off to float to the floor. 'Hope it is, then. I'd like to kill him. Be easier if he were in Bulgaria with the rest of the traitors. Him and that fucker Arco.'

'Indeed?'

'Bastards tried to tell me how to run my band. Think they're better than me, prancing about like fucking pixies or something.'

Abruptly, his head snapped to the side. 'Take em upstairs, boys, and watch em. Leave me the Malfoy woman and Feathering's bint. Lewis, Alan, you're with me.'

Eugenia started to protest and Hetty shook her head no. 'It's all right, darling. Up you go.'

The Lestrange brothers and Lucius all went last, looking back at them. Hetty beamed and stroked Nagini's back, hoping they all got the message. She winked at Rabastan, who dipped his head. He was a good bloke, Rab. He'd tell the others, and maybe some of them wouldn't be hurt when this was done.

The snakes were gathering. She could hear them slithering along the beams and into the mouths of mouse holes. They'd protect them, if the wolves attacked. Nagini was subtly pulling her closer to Cissy, to be able to cover both of them should the need arise. Hetty could feel her heart rate rising and touched her belly. Lie still, little one. Don't move, just lie still for Mummy.

The Floo hissed and flared, and Metellus Travers stepped through, looking as though he felt very important indeed. A smear of pomade had run down his cheek and stained his cravat. It was deep brown, suggesting it was laden with dye. Hetty had known men like Travers, small in every sense of the word, but dangerous for it, because they sensed their own inadequacies and despised them.

'Hello, Narcissa, Madam Feathering.'

The next one was the odious Umbridge bitch, holding a small leather case with great care. She reeked of perfume and a trace of something bland and civetty, like she'd been doing fleshly and unspeakable things.

Nagini hissed and tautened._ /nagini strikes this one first stupid bad human female/_

Hetty touched her and made herself not react in Parseltongue. 'Now, Nagini, Madam Umbridge is our friend. We mustn't be rude to her.'

_/nagini does not like it when hetty-speaker cant use real words nagini waits a bit to strike all the same/_

'Thank you, Nagini. What can we help you with, Madam Umbridge?'

'Metellus and I-at dear Walden's behest-are authorised to assist you in speaking to the Bulgarians about the matter of diplomatic disparity.'

'Of course.'

'Once Metellus opens the Floo connexion to Sofia, Madam Malfoy will try first to convince the Vicereine about the wisdom of our plan. Should that fail, we will continue to try and persuade them via other stratagems.'

Hetty didn't like the sound of that. 'Oh?'

Umbridge smiled at her, cheeks flushing. Her eyes, usually a dull hazel, were sparkling. She almost looked pretty this way.

'Get Mister Krum and bring him here, Ralph.'

A wolf stepped into the Floo and came back three minutes later, a blinking, startled Martin trailing behind. Another wolf calmly laid down a heavy, clanking roll on a delicate eboniste table, opening it. Shining instruments laid nestled inside, pain tools Hetty couldn't identify. One of the wolves seized Martin and laid his tunic open, binding his hands behind him and forcing him into a chair.

Narcissa was very pale but seemingly very calm. 'So that's what this is.'

Umbridge giggled, hand to her mouth like a schoolgirl. 'I would try very hard to convince them, Madam Malfoy. Very hard indeed.'

Then strong, foul-smelling hands were touching Hetty, and she walked to the chair opposite Martin's and sat down. Nagini followed, coiling her protectively. The snake's eyes were very bright and her demeanour had changed totally. She wasn't angry now. She was very focused and very calm, like Narcissa.

'It's all right, Nagini.'

Nagini rested her head on Hetty's belly and looked up at her with deep golden eyes.

_/which one does nagini kill first/_

'Madam Umbridge is just curious about things, Nagini.'

_/nagini takes her first then man-wolves then the big man-wolf/_

'All right, Nagini. All right.'

_/we all leave soon and find young go to young place/_

'Soon it will be like it was.'

_/this is a bad place now hetty-speaker/_

'I know, Nagini.'

Nagini coiled closer. She yawned, displaying fangs as long as Hetty's fingers. Greyback laughed and moved closer.

'Big, that snake.'

'She is, isn't she?'

'She bite?'

'Not if people are kind to her.'

'Not like me, then. Kind people are the easiest to bite. And kids. Soft, tender. Easy to scare.'

'Nagini doesn't bite children. Only bullies.'

'Hmmph, that's no sport. Hard men are too stringy to eat well. They stick in a bloke's teeth.'

_/nagini takes this one first now he hurts young nagini poisons him slowly/_

'Good, Nagini. That's just right.'

Travers, who'd be fiddling with the Floo, finally got the thing to open up.

'Sofia? Is this Sofia?'

'It is. Is this London?'

'No, Lestrange House, Lincoln, Lincolnshire, England. I am Metellus Travers, director of Suppressing Unrest. I am authorised to allow Madam Lucius Malfoy to speak to her niece the Vicereine in regards to the current situation.'

'Let us call you back using our Floo connexion.'

'All right.'

They disconnected. Hetty knew this to be standard procedure, making sure the registered Floo number matched the one on record. Greyback was fiddling with the instruments, rattling them disdainfully.

'Bah. What's a bloke to do with these when Nature gave him teeth and claws for a reason?'

The Floo went green and Hermione's head popped through. 'Hello, Mr. Travers.'

'Hello, Vicereine. I've your two aunts here, and your husband's father. They would like to speak to you as regards the current situation. The Dark Lord bids me remind you that you've two Englishmen in your custody, whilst he has only Mr. Krum. Does that strike you as fair, Vicereine?'

'I was not aware, Mr. Travers, that international relations work the same as dividing up a snack for children does. The Dark Lord's hostage is of far higher strategic value than ours and he knows that.'

'The fact remains he's only got the one and you've two. Edric Lestrange alone is worth three or four of your people.'

'Edric is a year old.'

'Martin Krum is irrelevant to your situation. He's practically useless as a bargaining chip.'

'Then by all means, release him into our custody and we'll forget this whole mess ever occurred.'

'That would hardly be very sporting of you, Vicereine. A show of good faith isn't so much to ask, is it?'

'It is when the show is a child's life.'

'We don't want them forever, Vicereine. And of course, whichever child you sent would have every comfort. A good education at Hogwarts, as you and your cousin Draco received, the reassurance of familiar faces. Really, it might be good for them.'

'In what way?'

'Building bridges between our people. Perhaps even a marriage, in time, between whichever one you send and one of our own children.'

'Both children are betrothed.'

'Those contracts could be broken, surely? The Dark Lord is even willing to accept the girl, if you were not inclined to send the lad.'

'In Bulgaria, we consider girls as valuable as boys.'

'No one said they weren't, but Vicereine, the girl is a less valuable...guest... than the boy is, in terms of diplomacy.'

'I am only a young girl, Mr. Travers, and unschooled in the ways of diplomacy, but if the Dark Lord is willing to accept a trade he believes to be to his disadvantage, then something suggests to me that there is another part to this story.'

Travers dipped his head. 'The Dark Lord would hate for things to necessitate conflict between our people, Vicereine. He feels that Britain's many friends abroad would be grieved to choose sides preparatory to an invasion.'

Greyback snorted like a horse. 'Fuck me, Metellus, you're shit at this. Move aside and let me try.'

When Travers didn't move quite fast enough, Greyback simply moved him, knocking him aside like he was a doll and leaning into the Floo.

'This the Vicereine?'

'It is.'

'Remember me, girlie?'

'I do. Fenrir Greyback, isn't it?'

'Damned right it is. You tell that cunt Pavel I'm coming for him, him and all those fucking traitors of his. Tell him I'm going to fuck his women and eat his kids. Tell him I'll make him watch as I-'

'Enough. You would do well not to threaten Bulgaria, sir. Bulgaria takes it very poorly.'

'Oh, Bulgaria, is it? Listen here, you little whore, I'm going to start cutting unless you play like a good girl. Do you hear me?'

'Let me speak to my aunt, please.'

Narcissa knelt down, smoothing her hair. 'Hello, darling.'

'Hello, Aunt Cissy. How are you?'

'I'm all right, darling. How are you?'

'Not badly. Is everything all right?'

'No, love. Greyback and his...friends...are here. They want us to talk about this thing with the children, all right?'

'Are they hurting you, Aunt Narcissa?'

'Not right now, love, but Hetty and Martin are here, and they're going to start hurting them.'

'May I see them?'

Hetty's stomach lurched as the stench from Greyback's mouth wafted down her neck and assaulted her nostrils. He shoved his hands under her arms and carried her over like a rag doll, feet dangling.

Martin rose slowly of his own volition, tugging his tunic closed with his hands. A wolf grabbed his arm and propelled him forward. When Hermione saw him, her eyes widened, but only for a second.

She said something in Bulgarian and he answered her, shaking his head. Travers made a face, clearly preparing to demand the negotiations be English-only. Greyback took a more direct approach, which is to say he set Hetty roughly on her feet and bent over the Floo.

'PAVEL, YOU CUNT, I SMELL YOU! I'M COMING FOR YOU, YOU FUCKER!'

'Mr. Travers, please ask Mr. Greyback not to shout at me.'

'COME FACE ME, YOU SON OF A WHORE!'

'Mr. Greyback, please stop yelling.'

'ARCO, YOU BASTARD, I SMELL YOU TOO!'

Eugen Arco's head popped through next to Hermione's.

'Stop shouting at the Vicereine.'

'WHY DON'T YOU FACE ME?'

'Here I am.'

Greyback lunged, almost knocking Hetty off her feet. His hand missed Hermione's face by a hair and he roared, angry he couldn't simply attack Arco and be done with it.

'Thank you, Mr. Greyback, that will be enough.'

Umbridge bent into the Floo, grinning. Her eyes were shining and her smell was stronger. Hetty suddenly understood what she was smelling and was sickened; she had no problem with fucking, but it was obvious what Umbridge was getting from this even before she saw the woman's hand dart between her stubby thighs and grind there.

'Now, Vicereine, is the Lord Protector there?'

'He is. Should you like to speak to him?'

'I would, yes.'

Viktor's head appeared beside his wife. He was scowling darkly, eyes fixed on Greyback.

'I suggest you keep your hands off of my vife, sir.'

'Oh, you suggest. He suggests, boys, I leave the girl be. What'll you do if I don't, then?'

Viktor was smiling gently. He said something in Bulgarian to his father, who shook his head gravely.

'WE-MUST-USE-ENGLISH-MY-LORD. IT-IS-NOT-THE CUSTOM-IN-BRITAIN-TO-SPEAK-ANOTHER-LANGUAGE-IN-FRONT-OF-OTHERS.'

'Thank you, Madam Umbridge. I am foreign, but my hearing is qvite good.'

'ARE-YOU-PREPARED-TO-CONCEDE-A-SECOND-HOSTAGE-TO-US?'

'I am prepared to discuss it. First, I vant an apology. It is most insulting to my vife, vhat has happened.'

'I assure you, Mr. Greyback simply has an excess of zeal.'

'Not him, you. How dare you presume to act as though the Vicereine is not authorised to speak for us both? Do you think my lady is not avare of Bulgaria's position in matters?'

Greyback snorted again. 'What kind of man takes orders from the hole he puts it in?'

Viktor's jaw snapped closed, eyes widening. Martin said something sharply, sounding slightly like what Hetty imagined he must have been liked before. Viktor shook his head once and said nothing, still fixing Greyback with that chilling stare.

'I don't forget insults, Greyback.'

'Why don't you send your wolves after me?'

'My volves fight men, they don't put down mad dogs.'

Greyback roared, lunging at the Floo. 'YOU SON OF A WHORE!'

The things that happened next happened so quickly that Hetty could never quite establish to herself which had happened first; it all seemed to have happened simultaneously, too quickly to track with the eye.

Greyback never made it into the Floo. Hetty was vaguely aware of a sense of great movement and then Nagini was flying toward the werewolf, head a triangular streak as she lashed out, hissing with rage, tail knocking Travers to the ground.

**_/MAN-WOLF DIES NOW/_**

Greyback managed to dodge back, drawing his wand, roaring a challenge. Something shattered and his head jerked. Martin was standing next to him holding the remains of a white and blue vase, looking shocked at himself.

Greyback roared again and the two he'd brought were moving to help him. Hetty's wand was in her hand before she realised it and she stunned one, remembering Des's lessons. The other fired back, and then, for the first time, Hetty was fighting someone. Abruptly the werewolf stopped firing back and Hetty downed him.

'All right' said a voice. 'All right, hem hem. That's enough. Drop your wand, Madam Feathering, Mr. Krum.'

Hetty turned. Umbridge was holding her own wand so the tip was directly at Narcissa's temple. Hetty let her wand fall, and Nagini slithered away from Greyback, who lay still, eyes rolled back in his head.

'I suggest, Vicereine, Lord Protector, you agree to send the child of your choice, because-hem, hem-I might have to kill your aunt if you do not.'

'I think not' said Narcissa casually, and then her elbow was in the woman's stomach, her arm snapping up, wand leaping into it, and Umbridge went sailing across the room, leaving her shoes, head cracking hard into a wall.

Narcissa struck again, the woman flying limply up and sticking to the wall, twitching. Hetty watched, incredulous, and then realised Travers was moving, Travers was trying to get away.

He was at the Floo, frantically trying to cut the connexion so he could jump inside, presumably to go to the Ministry. Hetty didn't think; she leapt at him, flailing with hands and feet, and gave him a hard kick in the neck. His head snapped back, and then Narcissa's valiant little adder struck, lashing out as though to strike, narrowly missing Travers's jugular with his fangs.

_/george dont let him move/_

Travers was rigid with terror, whimpering as George calmly poised his fangs over the man's left eye. Greyback was downed, chest moving steadily, and the second wolf was either stunned or dead, possibly because Martin had done it.

The man himself gently clapped her shoulder just before he swished his wand. Chains shot out the end and slipped round Greyback, twining snake-like about his limbs and neck, and then seeming to grow from the ceiling, lifting him up. Greyback was blinking, coming round far more quickly than he should have. Hetty hissed, and a dozen small snakes came from various bolt holes to slither to the werewolf and cover him, fangs poised should he try to move.

Martin chained Travers as well, and then, after looking to Narcissa, Umbridge. The two werewolves as well, and hung them so they couldn't get down. Hetty beamed her approval and hugged Nagini when the snake came back.

_/nagini bites wolves and woman and little man/_

_/wait for snape-human he will help us/_

_/snape-humans stays with the young/_

_/is that why nagini attacks the man-wolf/_

_/man-wolf steals young like an ogre threatens Viktor-young and Martin-human and is very smelly/_

_/hetty thinks so too/_

George (whose true snake name was Grn-sSSs-hcHa, but none of the human family could say it properly aside from her) raised his head and politely hissed at her. Should he summon the others now that Travers was contained?

A good idea, Hetty agreed, and then called for the elves. They came at once, ready to fight. 'Korry' her own elf 'get Professor Snape right now. The rest of you, get the of the family. Stun the wolves and bind them so they can't move.'

It was less than a minute later she heard feet on the stairs and then Bellatrix and Lucius burst through the door, wands high. They both stopped, looking round.

'What-?'

Narcissa huffed and embraced her sister. 'My maiden name **was **Black, you know.'

'Cissy, it's brilliant!'

'It wasn't just I. Hetty and Martin did nearly all of it.'

'No' said Martin immediately. 'Ladies did. I help only.'

Hetty called Nagini, stroking her neck. 'Nagini did it. She was the one who struck the first blow.'

_/whole brood did it nagini is biggest nagini strikes first/_

Korry popped in with Snape, who looked round and nodded once. 'What's happened?'

Both Viktor and Hermione had watched through the Floo, helpless to do anything. Now they chimed in, telling the story.

'Most impressive, the lot of you. Nagini, my thanks, madam.'

Nagini had recovered her hat, and used the tip of her tail to set it back on her head, which she dipped in acknowledgement.

_/snape-human is bringing naginis young back soon/_

_/hetty thinks the young are safer in bulgaria/_

_/brood goes to bulgaria then/_

_/someday/_

_/soon/_

_/hetty hopes so/_

Nagini bent closer, flicking her tongue gently over Hetty's stomach.

_/hetty-speakers young goes there too/_

Hetty sighed, cupping her belly._ /thats the best chance it might have nagini or go to des at durmstrang/._

Nagini dipped her head again. _/no heat hetty-speaker/_

_/no/_ she agreed sadly and listened to Snape.

'The rest of the werewolves are bound on the first storey? How many are there?'

'Six, and these two.'

'My lady, we have need of some of your men. Send me ten, if you could.'

'All right, Professor. What's the plan?'

'Bellatrix and I will alter the memories of all involved parties. Your wolves will go to ground in Lestrange Park for the moment. Greyback's men will be implanted with the appropriate suggestions and then bring them into the band one at the time. Eventually we'll have effective control of the wolf part of Wales that way.'

'Umbridge and Travers, sir?' Viktor looked unhappily at the woman, who was groaning softly in her chains.

'They are too valuable to kill for the moment. They will both believe they have succeeded in their mission, and provide us ears to the goings on at Hogwarts and the Ministry.'

Snape inclined his head gravely. ' I regret I cannot give Greyback to Pavel right now. When the moment is right, please make sure your people know I'll make sure they gets their pound of flesh.'

Viktor's head vanished and Arco's appeared. 'Thank you, sir. We appreciate it.'

'You're welcomed, Mr. Arco. I wonder, though, how you are speaking to us from Sofia?'

Hermione smiled a little. 'One of the wolves helped us set a disused Floo here to Sofia's address.'

'Very clever, my lady.'

Viktor's head had come back, and Martin was bent over the Floo, talking softly. He looked a bit sharper than usual, gesturing, explaining. Viktor was shaking his head, sometimes interjecting.

Martin asked him a question and Viktor's eyes softened. _'Ne, Tatko_.'

The family looked away, giving them privacy. Nagini slithered over and sniffed at the Floo, showing off her hat.

Hermione laughed softly. 'You look pretty, Nagini.'

_/nagini misses young come home soon/_

Martin stood up. 'Snake fight verevolf. Vas very good.'

Nagini slithered closer to Umbridge and stared unblinkingly at her. Her tongue darted out and tasted the woman's ankle, darted back in.

'Nagini, too, will get her fair reward. And our gratitude, surely.' Hetty translated the promise for Nagini, who made a little bow and went back to staring hungrily at Umbridge.

The children bid the adults goodbye and severed the connexion. The elves brought ten wolves a few minutes later. They helped clean the mess after things had been seen to, and then Travers,Umbridge and Greyback, memories rearranged, went back to their own places, errand run.

Greyback's men went with him. Their own wolves slipped into the vast park surrounding Lestrange House and vanished as though they'd never been there.

Hetty went to bed early, and Nagini joined her.

_/hetty-speaker is this war/_

_/it is/_

Nagini slithered closer, resting her head on Hetty's chest._ /hetty-speaker is all right/_

_/hetty feels sad we had to do for those wolves/_

_/they attacked us first/_

_/hetty knows/_

Nagini gently slid round her, coiling_. /when things are better no more predators will come/_

_/soon/_

_/very soon/_

They slept, woman and snake, so close it was hard to see where one ended and the other began.


	54. Chapter 54

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Good news: I start classes again next week! (Well, _a_ class until August, but hey, who's counting, right?)**

**Great news: I waited a while to tell everyone to be sure it would stick, but y'all, I'm officially ambulatory these days! I do still have a wheelchair, but I've only needed to use it maybe twice in the last six months. (For those of you wrinkling your brows in confusion, please see 'The Sum of the Stars' in my profile).**

**This chapter is dedicated to my doctor, who helped make those things happen. Dr. R, this one's for you.**

Hermione could sense the tension in the air, breathing it in and trying to breath out calm. She could feel Augusta Longbottom's eyes on her when she moved like she was wearing her sins printed on her flesh. And those of her parents, burnt into her for the world to see and judge.

Trying to ignore it, she pressed forward, gesturing to the map. 'So after Ron goes to Britain, Romania will send us the five thousand, is that right, Minister Vulpes?'

'To start out with. Once the first group is trained they'll return and we'll send the others. When the call comes, Romania will field the full ten thousand, as agreed.'

'Most of them' she said after a moment 'will of course not be aurors. We're anticipating a volunteer drive will take care of the need for more.'

'It was very successful for us in Sofia, Minister.'

'Precisely so, and the exiled Britons will field as many as we can. That might not be the largest number, but many of us are quite experienced.'

'We'll be glad of any of you, Minister Weasley.' Hermione smiled at her one-time best friend's father and he smiled back. Beside him, Augusta Longbottom's glare deepened.

Hermione forced herself to ignore it. She felt edgy, scared about sending someone she'd cared about to Britain. It was different, she reflected, in a fight. Combat was random, and the odds were almost the same for everyone, but sending Ron into a hostile country with virtually no training felt like a betrayal, however much he wanted to go.

'How many have the other countries promised, Vicereine?'

'Five thousand, the same as yourselves, with more to come. Each camp will hold twenty thousand men, and the troops will rotate every few weeks so they can train in different conditions.'

Vulpes nodded. 'It sounds as though this has been well thought-out, to say the least. You've the resources to feed and house so many?'

Viktor answered. 'Bulgaria has a number of exclusive trade agreements with other countries. Whatever our country cannot afford to provide will be sent to us in fulfilment of the agreements. And most of them are sending provisions for their people like it is, so I'm confident it shan't be an issue.'

'About your dragons, Minister Vulpes...'

'Yes, Vicereine?'

'How long will it take for them to be able to do what's needed?'

Vulpes shifted uncomfortably. 'Well, it...first let's define what's needed.'

'We need a force of dragons sufficient to neutralising the Dementors as a fighting force, and we need them quickly.'

'How quickly?'

'That remains to be seen.'

Vulpes nodded. 'Romania will do whatever it needs in order to make that happen. Unfortunately, the magical formulae that permits wizards and witches to control dragons without the need for physical force is...obscured by time.'

'Do they still exist?'

'We certainly hope so.'

'Luan Ismaili, our librarian, is an expert at finding things, Minister. Perhaps you'd permit him to help you?' Ismaili nodded from his corner, and Vulpes did as well.

'Of course.'

'And we've some people we could ask.'

'No doubt they do.'

Augusta didn't bother to lower her voice. Hermione's nails dug into her palms as she forged ahead, ignoring it. At least Tonks had been mostly quiet since he'd been sent from the room in disgrace a few evenings before.

'Once the dragons have been sorted out, and the training is underway, we'll have a better idea of where things in Britain stand.'

'Your people give you reports, no doubt.'

'They do, but it's very hard to gauge where the common person stands based on what my parents observe. It would be best if we could be assured of a friendly, or at least no hostile, reception from the majority of citizens.'

Pavel spoke from the end of the table. 'My lady, the wolves and I feel sure that Greyback's band will be eager to aid our cause. When the time comes, many of them will surely defect.'

'Based on what, Pavel?' Tonks finally spoke up, but less belligerently than usual. Paavo's eyes brightened a bit; Hermione suspected he would have welcomed a confrontation with the older man.

'Based on my observations of what's going on there.'

'You are not an objective observer, Mr. Pavel.'

'You're damned right I'm not. Am I supposed to be objective about what's being done to people exactly like myself?'

'All I'm saying is your anger is blinding you to-'

'To what, Tonks? To knowing my place amongst you humans? If it doesn't come from someone who isn't a lycanthrope it doesn't count?'

Hermione could tell this was about to get ugly. 'If Mr. Pavel makes an observation about werewolves, Mr. Tonks, my husband and I credit it, and so does Bulgaria.'

Tonks, at least, subsided. Augusta did not. 'Why should you not, Vicereine? Your man will say whatever you require of him.'

'I disagree, madam. Minister Vulpes, is there anything else you can think of?'

'There isn't, Vicereine. We'll have our researchers start looking for a solution to the dragon issue right away.'

'We would appreciate that.'

The room was quiet and Hermione was beginning to feel like the tension might be averted without incident. She sipped the tea the elf had brought her and smiled at her husband, who smiled back.

Scabior rose and bent to murmur in Hermione's ear. 'Snape's back, milady. E fixed thins fer us.'

'Thank you, Scabior.'

The group had broken into smaller pods, the English talking amongst themselves, the Romanians doing the same. Snape billowed in, bowed once and sat down. Viktor immediately began filling him in.

'Dragons, my lord and lady?'

Ismaili came closer. 'I can check the archives, my lord. Albania will have something about this.'

'Albania had dragons?'

Ismaili smiled a little. 'A few, my lady. Mainly, Albania had a lot of Dark magic. It still does.'

'Dragons are Dark?'

'Dragons themselves, no. A lot of dragon-magic? It was.'

'Wizards who used dragons in combat were typically...rather forceful fellows, to say the least, Hermione.' Viktor reached under the table to touch her leg lightly.

'Ah.'

She felt a worried squirmed in her chest, and a simultaneous excitement. Imagine riding a dragon, not some insubstantial broom which could shatter under one like a twig but fire made air and flesh, the beast's great body under one, the sky ahead captive to the flapping wings, two hearts pounding as one in the clouds.

Viktor seemingly sensed the change in her, because he squeezed her knee once before he released her.

'-poetic justice, I would call it.'

Augusta. Hermione's head whipped round and she felt her muscles tense. Viktor had gone still and Draco, on her other side, had cut off mid-word from where he'd been speaking to Vaike.

'What's that, Madam Longbottom?'

'I was not speaking to you, Lord Protector.'

'Nevertheless, you did not trouble to lower your voice. A person who involves others in his business does not get to control what others do with it.'

Augusta never faltered, not once. 'I said that it would be poetic justice if those dragons should maul you, and whoever would help you with this thing. It's madness, all of it, giving power of this sort to the two of you.'

'Ah. I appreciate your honesty.'

'Do you? Should you like some more?'

'Have we a choice?'

She ignored him. 'You can come in here acting civilised, with your little retinue of killers and your smiles and your pleases, but you're nothing but murderous thugs, the whole lot of you.'

Hermione stood up. 'Now that you've expressed yourself, madam, perhaps the adults would like to continue with diplomacy?'

'You think you're funny, little girl? Every person here knows what you are. Those parents of yours, sadistic monsters the both of them. It makes me want to vomit, seeing you whole and well whilst my son rots below the earth. If there is any justice, you'll die as he did, and soon.'

A gasp went up from the people, and Molly Weasley rose and darted toward Augusta, clearly trying to head off the confrontation, grabbing her arm. Augusta shook her off.

'Nothing to say to me, little girl?'

Hermione was very still. She felt angry, and more than that, she felt a sense of her magic flowing in her, gathering under her skin. Her scalp was tingling, her nails aching with it. In her shoes, her toes were curling and relaxing, small spasms of energy making the muscles of her arms and legs twitch.

'Would that bring back your son to you, Madam Longbottom? Would my death restore your family like it had been?'

'It would be just!'

'Whose justice is this, exactly? What have I done to merit it? I have the wrong parents?'

'YES!'

'I am sorry about what happened. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. But what part could I have prevented, precisely? Where was the part in which I might have turned the tide? Tell me, please.'

Augusta's face was getting red. 'You have no idea-'

'So why don't you explain to me, since you do?'

'Your parents-'

'Aren't here. I am.'

'The things you have done are better, are they? You aren't like them?'

'I've never said that. I've said I am not my mother or father, or uncle, or Barty. If you've a problem with them, don't take it out on me.'

'You're not just a monster, you're the worst of the lot! I've heard the stories about you!'

'You and the rest of Europe. Have you bothered to ask which are true, madam? Not of me, but of anyone?'

'Why? Like bitch like pup, I say!'

Now the others were on their feet. Molly grabbed Augusta's arm more forcefully, hissing at her. Scabior, Paavo and Enver had all drawn, and Vaike was restraining Anu, hand clapped over his mouth as she spoke to him. Sirius was quickly making his way to the centre of the room, hand raised in a peace-keeping gesture. Snape was doing nothing, head cocked, seemingly content to let the women fight this out, but Hermione saw his hand creeping toward his sleeve to draw should the need arise.

'Augusta, stop it!'

'Just because you haven't got the courage to say it, Arthur-'

Pavel and the rest of the wolves were sliding quietly into position. Pavel raised a brow, waiting for the signal. Hermione shook her head once. Let the woman get it out so the real work could continue.

'Something to say, girl?'

Hermione wished Aunt Cunegarde was here. The old woman, brutal as she'd been, had prepared her for this moment. That thought brought on another one, a memory of seeing Mother threatening Aunt in the courtyard of Lestrange House that first day.

Was this had she had felt that day? It had scared Hermione, seeing one of the new adults in her life threaten to kill another, wondering if this woman who said she was Hermione's mother meant to hurt her if she should make her angry enough.

She saw things newly now. Mother had been angry, but hurt as well, as she was, hurt by someone she wanted only to help, hurt in the most sensitive part of her being.

Her magic was stirring harder, pulsing with the beats of her heart. She forced herself to breath calmly and not to touch her wand, not to use that powerful force to hurt someone no matter how sweet it might feel to unleash some of that fury. It would feel, Hermione reckoned, very sweet indeed.

'I have said my piece, Madam Longbottom, as you have yours. Let's part now that we've each done.'

'No response, hmm? Unsurprising. All you people are good at is destroying things better people have built. Savages.'

'I am not the one insulting guests under our mutual host's roof, let alone the people who wish to help me. But you are as entitled to your opinion as anyone else. Excuse me, I am not feeling well.'

'Stand and answer me!'

'Answer you what, madam? I am not obliged to justify myself to you.'

'Or anyone! You all think we don't know what you're up to? Trying to build an empire for yourselves? Is that why we came, Arthur, Remus? To hand Britain over to a bloodthirsty monster and her puppet-husband?'

Augusta's wand came up and pointed at Hermione. Hermione's own leapt into her hand, and she sensed, rather than saw, the others doing likewise. Except Sirius, who stepped casually between them, like this was an everyday thing.

'Everyone put down their wands and we'll talk about this.'

Augusta kept her wand pointed at Hermione. 'There's nothing to talk about, Sirius.'

'Do you mean to strike her down, Augusta? She's the same age as your Neville.'

'DON'T YOU COMPARE MY GRANDSON TO THAT THING!'

'That thing is my cousin, and she's fifteen years old. Put down your wand and we can talk things over. But if you do this, Augusta, then there's no more talking. Hermione didn't hurt Frank and Alice. If you want to be angry about that, be angry, but don't hurt a child. How would that make you better than them, Augusta? You'd be doing what Bellatrix did, but to a little girl.'

Sirius stepped forward and reached for the tip of her wand, to push it down and then disarm her. Augusta let him get close enough she could fire round him and then she struck, her wand a blur.

For Hermione, the skirmish would always seem like a series of disconnected activities, like snapshots in a flipbook, a single still image that, when moved in her mind's eye, resolved into a coherent whole. She saw Augusta swing her wand toward them and fire, missing Sirius by merely a few centimetres. He spun, trying to disarm the elderly witch, and she dodged him, firing again.

Even as she fought Augusta, she was vaguely aware that other things were happening. It was, she judged vaguely, a lot cooler in the room, for one. There was a strange high popping in the air, and she would almost have sworn her hair was moving, as in a breeze.

Hermione's mind coldly recorded the rest. Her wand snapped up and she fired back. Augusta's spell missed. Hers didn't. Augusta's legs locked together and her spine stiffened.

Augusta was still firing. Something very big and very hot shot by her ear, and she felt a shocking volcanic heat there. A hand from behind her tugged her scarf from her hair and she heard hard snapping thumps as though someone were stomping. Paavo? Sometimes his prosthetic foot bothered him. Perhaps they should have it looked at.

Muscle memory didn't fail her a second time. Even as her ear started to hurt she fired a second time, hearing more of those pops, the wind increasing. Was a window open?

'Expelliarmus! Stupify!'

Augusta's wand flew from her hand and across the room, so hard it hit the other wall and almost snapped in two before she'd hit the ground. That seemed to break the tension completely as both sides went to tend their wounded.

Hermione set down her wand. Her hands were shaking, her right so rapidly she used her other hand to stop it. Then Viktor was there, and Draco, and Anu, who bent down and picked something up. It was her scarf, once white, now brown with dust and blackened about the edges.

'What happened to it?'

No one answered. Hermione was aware that the room had warmed up a bit. There were no pops, no breeze. Everything was still and she was the epicentre of it, the startled sun about which things revolved for a moment.

'Is Madam Longbottom all right, Minister Weasley?'

'She's fine, Vicereine. Molly, would you take Augusta to lie down?'

'Of course.'

Hermione sat down in her chair, legs shaking. Her ear was throbbing vilely, and Kreacher appeared with a phial of thick ointment. She let him dab it on, feeling like she'd woken from a long, deep sleep. More elves had appeared, and were sweeping bright chips of broken glass from the floor.

'Is there anything else we might discuss right now?'

Minister Weasley's voice was soft and thoughtful. 'No, Vicereine. There's nothing we can think of.'

'Then if no one minds I'd like to lie down.'

They withdrew, from one silence to another. Hermione waited until she and her husband were in their room to ask him. She looked in the mirror; her ear was blistered, a little hair crisped away. The unguent was healing it, but it looked almost like a Burning jinx, a strong one.

'What were those noises I kept hearing? Sort of a popping sound?'

His arms went round her. 'The glasses were shattering, love.'

'In the cabinets, you mean?'

'Yes.'

'And the window?'

'Window?'

'Why was it open?'

'Come and lie down, all right?'

She nodded slowly. 'I'm a bit lost.'

They lay down and he told her, and she was afraid. And exhilarated, deep in her heart, which scared her even more.

In Britain, the Dark Lord was pensive. He rose from His desk and went to the window. Hogwarts would normally be empty this time of year, but to His pleasure, lines of young people, male and female, were lined up in ranks in the courtyard. Outside, alecto was drilling them, shouting in her stentorian voice.

He nodded to Himself, satisfied by the progress things were making. He'd let the littlest ones, the useless ones, go home; didn't that prove His mercy, His love for His people?

archie cleared his throat. 'About this boy, my lord.'

'The bulgarian. ivan, is it?'

'It is. i have seen Your Lordship's writings on the subjects. May Your servant speak freely?'

'Please do, archie.'

'i do not feel that putting the boy with amycus and alecto is the best choice, nor thorfinn and honoria. it might be better if he were to stay with the malfoys.'

'Allow the boy to live amongst the traitors? archie, what are you thinking?'

'It will not look well if Your Lordship were to visibly distrust such heroes of the regime this way. The public doesn't know alecto or thorfinn the way they do the lestranges or malfoys.'

'The public does not need to know.'

'Not to mention, My Lord, it might be an easier adjustment for the lad himself. he will no doubt prefer familiar faces about him as he acclimates to England.'

'thorfinn's got children, hasn't he?'

'Three, My Lord.'

'Well, surely he would know how to keep the boy quiet.'

'thorfinn is not as familiar with the bulgarian way of doing things as is the family. the boy is apt to cooperate better if he is not stressed.'

'he is a child, archie. Surely controlling him can't be so hard?'

'It might be more convenient to Your Lordship if it was not an issue.'

The Dark Lord nodded slowly. 'What is it to you, archie, where the boy will be?'

archie lowered his voice and looked round. 'The carrows and the rowles are amongst Your Lordship's most faithful and energetic supporters. It might be...wise...to be sure they won't be bogged down nursemaiding some bulgarian brat when things begin to happen.'

'And it isn't like the malfoys are doing anything.'

'They did an excellent job on draco, after all. metellus was very impressed by his ideology.'

'We suppose so. But have the carrows check on him. alecto can give him regular lessons, perhaps. Early indoctrination is..'

'The beating heart of our movement, My Lord.'

'Quite right.'

The Dark Lord went to the window again. archie joined him, and the two of them watched the children. alecto was hectoring them, and at the right moments they chanted the proper responses.

'Impressive, My Lord.'

'Aren't they? The soldiers of the future, archie. When the moment comes, these children will have the most important role of all.'

'My Lord?'

'They'll keep our capital safe.'

'i'm not sure i follow, My Lord.'

The Dark Lord looked out on his rows of little fighters and smiled. 'Trust Us, archie. We've a plan.'

And a plan for the little ones as well, but it wasn't necessary archie know it. Not yet. The Dark Lord surveyed his future cannon fodder and laughed a little.

At Durmstrange, Ron Weasley was waiting. Palms wet, he hugged his mother and father, swallowing hard. 'See you soon, Mum. Dad.'

Mum touched his cheek, eyes wet. 'Be safe, Ron.'

'I will.'

His brothers and sister had come as well, even Bill and Charlie, even his sister. Ron hugged each of them in turn.

'Be careful, Ionel.'

He nodded. Petru was like that, always fussing and worrying. Ron was startled by the fierceness in his fussy brother's hug but hugged straight back. Petru was a bit of an old maid, but Ron loved him.

Gheorghe and Ferka hugged him at the same time. 'We're proud of you, baby brother.'

'Even if you are an unbearable swot.'

'And we found you in a rubbish tip.'

Ron snorted. The twins had told him that when he was about four and he'd got all worked up. He punched both of them on the shoulder.

'Wrapped in a lady's dressing gown. I remember.'

'We love you anyway, even if you smelt like the tip for a while.'

'Still do.'

Gina was crying. Ron patted her back. 'Gin, come on. It's just England, remember? It was home.'

She nodded, drying her eyes. 'I'm proud of you, Ion.'

'Proud of you too. Do what Petru and the twins tell you, all right?'

'Don't get hurt, Ionel!'

'Hermione's family's going to take care of me. And I'll be shorter than you for a while. That's something, right?'

She rolled her eyes and then Snape, sour-faced, handed over the phial. Ron opened the top and drank. It tasted neutral, slightly green and a tiny bit sour. Then he was shrinking, his clothes puddling about him as the world grew larger.

'Mr. Weasley?'

'Professor?' He took a step forward and almost tripped on his trouser legs. Blushing, he grabbed his trousers as they very nearly fell off.

'How do you feel, Mr. Weasley?'

'Little, sir.'

Snape nodded once. 'No muscle pains? No stomach cramps?'

'No, sir.'

'Then I'd say it was a success. Whenever you're ready, you may dress and then we shall depart to the Ministry.'

They'd sent him Bulgarian dress. A tunic, stiff trousers and a pair of small, high boots. His hands were clumsy, trying to fasten the strange side clasps on the tunic. Bill had to help him on with his boots, and Mum gently combed his hair for him.

Then Snape proffered a hand. 'Lord Borev, are you ready?'

'Yes, sir.'

Snape kept a grip on him as he seized the Portkey. 'Ministry of Magic.'

They set down in a high, echoing corridor that was vaguely familiar to Ron. A small group of people was waiting, and one of them was not a person at all, but a snake. The snake greeted them first. It slithered up and bent to sniff him all over, tongue flicking over his cheeks and neck.

'Ah, Severus. This is the child? Bring him to Us.'

Snape gently prodded him forwarded. 'My lord Borev, the Dark Lord wishes to greet you.'

Ron found his legs were trembling a bit but he pressed forward. 'My lord.' His voice was small and high, and heavily accented. He bowed, feeling an urgent need to relieve himself that he suspected was panic rather than true need.

At least he wasn't in Harry today. Snape had said he often Polyjuiced himself, and today was no exception. He was wearing a huge man with coarse features, a man who looked slightly like someone Ron had known. Crabbe? Goyle?

'Hello, little one. Don't be afraid. Come closer. We only wish to see you, child.'

His hands were huge, and there was something unpleasant about being touched by them. Not the hands themselves, which were rough like Charlie's, but the way the Dark Lord did it.

'You are Ivan, is that right?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Of course you are. You are my hostage, do you know that?'

'I, err...'

'My lord, the boy's English is not good. He mightn't understand.'

The Dark Lord's massive bulk went to one knee. 'You are here with Us. You will be safe so long as your cousin obeys. If he is good, nothing will happen. Do you understand?'

Ron nodded. His body felt very small next to this much larger one. Snape was behind him, and quick as a wink he pressed Ron's-Ivan's-shoulder.

'If you are a good boy, then We will have you taught. If you are naughty, then We will have to punish you.'

Something about the way he said it made Ron's stomach clench. He nodded again, wishing this was over. 'Yes, my lord.'

'Good. Good.' One of the Dark Lord's massive paws touched his head, and clamped for a second. The strength there was frightening. This little body, realised Ron with a sense of dread, was awfully breakable.

'We don't want to have to hurt you.'

Then the hand drew back, and the side of Ron's head exploded. He was on his side, ears ringing, face burning furiously. Tears were running from his eyes. Snape leant down emotionlessly and set him to his feet.

'Make sure your cousins get the message. Take the boy, Snape.' The Dark Lord left.

Ron was starting to discover another unpleasant facet of being in this body, which is to say that he found he wanted to stop crying and couldn't. He sobbed, crying into a fisted hand as he perceived a large masculine bulk over him, larger than Snape.

'There there, Ivan. Shhh, shhh.'

Lucius Malfoy knelt down and put a hand to his shoulder, murmuring comfortingly. Ron was too disturbed by the sensations he was experiencing to care this was Malfoy's father. He buried his head in the man's neck and sobbed, overwhelmed. Internally, he was more disconcerted than anything; he was fifteen, after all, and it had only been a slap, albeit a hard one.

'Yes, shhh, I know, I know. Shh, let's go home now, all right?'

Ron nodded, trying to bring it under control. Suddenly he smelt something terrible and stiffened, holding on tighter to Malfoy.

'Madam Umbridge.'

'The Dark Lord has asked Mr. Greyback to look the boy over. To check him for illness.'

'Does Greyback have a healer's license he has neglected to mention?'

'By smell.'

Ron forced himself to stand up straight and take a step back. The wolf's giant hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, hauling him, feet kicking, into the air. His joints groaned and Ron had to restrain himself from crying out.

Greyback bent his head and drew in several deep breaths. 'Smells normal enough.'

'Are you quite sure, Mr. Greyback? Perhaps a blood sample would help you know for certain?'

Ron saw Umbridge's wand flick and then blood was running red and hot down his arm and onto the floor. It pattered there, like rain. The smell added to the unholy stench emanating from the werewolf, and the shrill reek of perfume and whatever else from the woman. He gagged, feet peddling, and vomited.

It might have saved them. Greyback let him drop, swearing. The floor rushed to greet him, and when the spell came, he snapped to a stop, jerking, covered in blood and bile.

'Sorry! Sorry!'

'Hush, darling. Nothing you did was wrong at all.' A woman Ron assumed was Malfoy's mum helped him stand and healed his arm, quickly vanishing the blood. She looked angry enough to kill. She cleaned the mess off of him as well, and sent an elf for something to settle his belly.

'Madam Malfoy, I must insist we-'

'Greyback said my nephew smells fine.'

'But we have not yet verified this is the boy.'

'Don't be silly, of course you have. And anyway, Ivan is very delicate. He needs rest now.'

'A moment more wouldn't hurt anything. Come along now, Ivan, Mr. Greyback only wants to look at you.'

Ron shook his head. 'No.'

'Now, Ivan, mustn't be naughty.'

'No.'

'I would hate to tell the Dark Lord you'd been a bad boy on your first day here.'

'No.'

Greyback huffed, sounding like a horse's snort. 'I have places to be, woman. Boy, come here.'

Ron forced himself to step forward. Greyback lifted him by the tunic. 'You scared of me?'

'No.'

'Liar.'

'No!'

Greyback bent his head and sniffed. 'It's him. Stinks of Krum and his cunt.'

Ron saw a tall dark-haired pair of men that could only be brothers stiffen, faces dark. Next to the taller, a small dark woman took things less quietly.

'WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT MY DAUGHTER, YOU FILTHY BASTARD?'

'NO ONE NAMES FENRIR GREYBACK A BASTARD AND LIVES!' The werewolf lunged at her, hands hooking into claws and three aurors came seemingly from nowhere.

'ENOUGH, CITIZENS!' One of them snapped his wand at the werewolf, and he went down, wrapped in chains.

'If this is quite through, Delores, then surely it would be expedient for lord Borev to go home with his family now.'

Umbridge was staring at the writhing, swearing werewolf. 'Fine, fine. But don't think this is the end of things!'

The closest adult-one of the brothers; Hermione's father? Her uncle?-took Ron's hand.

'I'll carry you through the Floo, Ivan, all right?'

'Yes, Uncle.'

'Good boy.' The man bent and lifted him as though he were a leaf. They went through the closest Floo, and stepped into the great adventure of Ron's life thus far.

**Spoiler A/N: The younger children use Romanian names because they've adapted culturally to their new home. The older ones don't because they were raised in Britain.**


	55. Chapter 55

A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.  
I am so, so sorry this took so long, y'all. Things here are extremely  
chaotic right now, and I'm not in the best place in some ways. But  
hopefully regular updates will commence soon, so let's keep our  
fingers crossed, all right? 

Sose sometimes had mild premonitions about things, never more than a slight sense of yes or no, good or bad. She'd had one when her labour with Anu had started, as a sickly moon had risen over the mountains and her stomach had started to heave and ache. She'd pressed her hands to it and known that the child would live, and so would she.

She'd had another the day the Dementors had attacked Malfoy Manor. She'd woken that day and knew, lying in her bed, that her son was in danger. How she had known she couldn't rightly say, and mostly it didn't bother her.

When she touched the letter, she'd had one. They had done it, though what it was she also couldn't have said, just slit the wax with her little knife and sat down to read it.

"Dear Nene,

We signed the papers today, and Romania took the vow. I miss you. Kiss Yana for me, and yourself as well.

Love you,

Anu."

Sose smoothed the letter, proud that they'd done it, proud that she could read about it all on her own. A noise made her raise her head and survey her small household; Barty and Edric, Yana and the elves, Goose the dog. Her son was missing, and Vaike Kask, but most of the people she loved were there, and that, too, was good.

Yana normally didn't live at Castle Borev, not full time. She'd asked to stay whilst her intended and Vaike were gone, and Sose had agreed at once, glad of the company, pleased that her son's fiancée liked to be with her, with them. As it was, Yana was entertaining Barty, telling him a story about something that had happened.

Beside Barty, Edric was talking softly. He saw her looking at him and laughed, waving. She waved back. She wished Eugenia could have this, her baby's smiles and words and happy presence.

'Are they coming home soon, Nene?'

'I think they are, Yana.'

Yana nodded. She looked older now, physically and emotionally, older than she should. 'Our wolves will come back, then.'

'They will.'

She nodded again. 'Can we check the goats soon, Nene?'

'I would like that.'

The two ladies, one large and one smaller, left the gentlemen in the hall and went to the pen. The goats were frisking, the new billy lording over them all, munching some grass. He bleated once to greet them and then went back to his munching unconcerned with their petty human concerns.

'The kids are so big now!'

'They are.' Sose had given Yana charge of one of them, a sweet little speckled male. He came toward them on spindly legs, Apples beside him. Yana cooed delightedly, stroking the kid's velvet ears.

It would be a fair, hot day. Sose saw the gardener elf and his helpers toting a line of buckets toward the vegetable gardens, passing another group carrying baskets laden with produce, including some deliciously plump morel mushrooms from the forest outside the walls.

Yana shaded her eyes, squinting gravely. 'There will be berries soon.'

'I think so.'

An elf came toward them, bowing. 'Mistress Sose, there is a visitor from Professor Snape.'

Sose supposed it was Sirius Black, and felt her pulse rate ascending. She couldn't very well keep Yana with her, lest the animagus's secret get out. On the other hand, she couldn't be alone with a man, either.

'Yana, why don't you go and see if the priest will hear your lessons for this week.'

Yana looked startled but nodded. 'Is something wrong, Nene?'

'It might be a political thing. What the elf said.'

Yana knew about politics. 'I'll see you later, then.' She embraced Sose and trotted toward the chapel, quite as brisk and business-like as her mother.

It was indeed Sirius. Elf by her side (Barty had taken Edric for his daily walk about the courtyards, and to play with the goats) Sose greeted him, feeling hot blood rush to her cheeks.

'Ron Weasley arrived safely in London this morning, madam. Then things got complicated.'

He summed up what had happened. Sose sat down, trying to make sense of things she would never have thought she'd understand. 'He hit him to send the children a message?'

'I don't understand it either. I honestly think he hit him because he's a maniac, but what do I know?'

Sose shook her head. 'No. I mean, I think you do. Know. I mean, I think you know as well as anyone.'

'Thank you. Hermione tells me the Weasley kid's got a good head on his shoulders. For his sake, I hope that's true.'

'All he's got to do is pretend to be Ivan. Right?'

'In theory. In practice, I expect he'll have to be able to fool the Dark Lord for quite a long time. They're sending Alecto to instruct him.'

'She's bad, isn't she?'

'A sadist and a child abuser.'

'She beat Hermione.'

'You've heard the story as well?'

'Drago mentioned it once. She made her bleed.' Drago had told her about all the Death Eaters allied against them, and she had feared her son, or the others, might run afoul of this terrifying woman when they'd left for Britain.

Sirius ran a hand through his hair. 'A lot of people will bleed before this is over.'

'I'm sorry.'

'So am I. Sometimes I wish Reg were alive so I could kill him all over again for involving himself with this.'

'He was young. You both were.'

'I know. I was talking to Anu about this situation a few days ago.'

'Oh. Is it...did something happen?' Her stomach twisted anxiously.

'No. No, he's all right. I was trying to convince him not to fight.'

'Did you?'

He laughed softly, shaking his head. 'When he makes up his mind, it stays made up, doesn't it?'

'He's stubborn. My son. He gets it from my brother Ermir. He died when he was sixteen. My brother.'

'I'm sorry to hear that.'

'Thank you.'

She wished she were clever at finding things to discuss. It struck her as morbid to discuss their lost kin, no matter how much she'd loved Ermir, who'd been ten years older, and died when a troll had raided their small flock. His homemade spear had been no match for the troll's club.

'What's he going to…is there a plan yet?'

'Not that I know of. Once the troops get here we'll have a better idea.'

Sose nodded gravely. 'You'll watch him? If you want to. I mean, ah,-'

The man extended a hand. 'I will do everything I can. And Anu is a tough kid. I think he'll be fine.'

Sose looked at the table, blood rushing to her face. 'All right.'

She could sense Sirius shifting restively. 'Madam Tamm?'

Slowly, Sose lifted her head. 'Mr. Black?'

'I wish…what if I could teach you some things? About self-defense, I mean. It seems to me…you might feel…a bit less…' He was strangely hesitant in his speech, and a very fine wash of colour was marking his cheeks. Sose had once had a single sip of a fizzy drink that was something muggles liked; her feeling now, seeing it, was a little like that, like little bubbles were floating inside her.

'Alise is. Teaching me. Don't trouble yourself.'

'It wouldn't be…I used to help teach a special class for witches' self-defense. If you want to, I mean.'

'I would. You really don't mind?'

'Not at all. And if I ever make you…uncomfortable…all you need do is say and I'll stop.'

Sose did something unspeakably bold, even bolder than kicking Alin Turgurlan had been (he'd been drunk, and she was stronger than she looked, and quicker to boot). She looked Sirius Black in the eyes and asked for his word.

'I swear on the shade of my mother, I will never hurt you or scare you on purpose.'

She finally dropped her eyes, nodding silently, tears prickling her eyes for no reason. Those happy-bubbles still sang inside her, and when she alone, another strange, bold thing happened. Sose sat down in a chair, covered her face with her apron, and laughed for sheer….something.

In Sofia, Kreacher was not laughing. No, indeed. He was dusting the Mistress's frame and having a good gossip. 'Kreacher thinks that Minister is really very common and vulgar, Mistress.'

'How so, Kreacher?'

Kreacher sniffed, snobbery undulled by his advancing years. 'She wears rouge, Mistress. And her hair looks dyed to Kreacher.'

'You don't say. And my niece?'

'Young Mistress is very well. Kreacher gave her phials yesterday.'

'For what?'

'One nutrient, one Pepper-up and one for her bones, Mistress.'

'Her bones?'

Black ladies often suffered from weak bones as they aged, and as much as the young Mistress fought, Kreacher was determined to make sure her bones stayed strong. Mistress seemed to approve, and they spoke at length about minor considerations.

'So my niece and nephew will return soon, Kreacher?'

'Tomorrow, Mistress. Then Master Draco will go to Sweden and Norway the day after, and Master and young Mistress will look for answers about dragons.'

'Dragons?'

Kreacher explained about the dragons. He was displeased by this whole notion, and had made that clear with his various noises and expressions. Young Mistress was oddly inured to both, and Master had simply snorted and then serenely ignored it all. Clearly, further house-elf training was called for here, and soon.

'Bellatrix's daughter is doing rather well at this. Doesn't surprise me. Bellatrix was the smartest baby I ever saw.'

'Kreacher remembers.'

Mistress looked pensive, frowning slightly. 'Still, watch them. I won't have the girl fried like a kipper, do you hear me? She's to continue our line.'

'And Master Sirius, Mistress.'

'Sirius particularly. Still, I venture the girl will give us a baby before he does. Always was a bit on a lackadaisical side, Sirius.'

Kreacher squared his shoulders. 'Mistress, Kreacher will make sure that doesn't happen.'

'I've every faith in your cunning, Kreacher.'

He bowed, pleased. He had faith in his cunning too.

Durmstrang was as it had been. That terrible Longbottom woman was being kept in her room (still, Kreacher hissed at the closed door as he went by, on principle). The Bulgarians were cloistered in the Master and Mistress's room, all inelegantly draped across various surfaces, debating the latest happenings.

'So Drago will go as emissary with two wolves to serve as bodyguards. Viktor and I will go back to Bulgaria in time to receive this first batch of troops. Luan will have the Albanians transport the necessary documents and scrolls to Sofia and then we'll get people working on that. Pavel?'

'The wolves are prepared for training, my lady. We have our lieutenants ready to command similarly sized companies of foreign aurors. The camps are nearly set, provisions are stocked and we've formed a de facto officers' school headed by the usual suspects.'

All of them chuckled at the sally. Pavel waited for the laughter to stop before he spoke again. 'I would also like to make a proposal, by your lordship's leave.'

'Please do.'

'Many of my men have specialized skills. Costin Galca is a forger of some note, for instance. Sandru Istok is an expert in funneling cash to various enterprises, Eugen Arco is the best scout I know, and so forth.'

'It seems expedient to me to train others in these same skills, should something happen to my men.'

Mistress was nodding slowly. 'You mean the aurors?'

'And yourselves as well, my lady. I see no reason Mr. Ismaili wouldn't have the makings of a good…banker, for example. Once everyone was trained in some skill, it would be possible for those people to train others, in addition to the foreign aurors.'

'My lord and I are training with a private tutor, Mr. Pavel, but I'm sure the others would welcome your instruction.'

'I would' said Master Paavo Kask. Master Enver Vata agreed, and Mistress Vaike Kask, and both Scabiors. Kreacher nodded once, stiffly. 'Kreacher would, if Master and Mistress agreed.'

Mistress beamed. 'Kreacher, that's lovely. Mr. Pavel, you wouldn't object, would you?'

'Not at all.'

Kreacher nodded again, eyes narrowing. He wasn't terribly fond of the whole idea of wolves, but this one seemed to him less objectionable than he might be. Somewhat, he amended, as he didn't like that slutty blonde woman the wolf kept company with.

'Kreacher could ask the other elves to do the same.'

'If no one, including the other elves, objects, Kreacher, I would feel fine with that. My lord?'

'Precisely so.'

The others finished their discussions and drifted out, aside from Master Draco, who plopped down. 'I've a bit of an idea.'

'Oh, dear.'

'Hush, Hermione. Anyhow, I was thinking I might take Anu with me, if no one minded.'

Master and Mistress both nodded. 'He would like that.'

'And I think it might add to our case. He's a lord in his own right, for one, and a war hero. I'm afraid they'll think we're skimping, if only I go.'

'You're a war hero, and our sensechal. And the Swedes and Norwegians don't have nobility.'

'I know. Anu's also very keen on ships, so that might help as well. The sailors loved him.'

Mistress smiled a bit. 'It's good for Anu to be able to help, as well.'

'I think so too.'

'Send an elf to ask Aunt Sose before you ask him, won't you?'

'Already did. She's fine with it.'

Kreacher made a face. He didn't want Master Anu to go, or Master Draco. He wanted them safe with him, where he could watch. He wanted all of them, including their parents and Master Sirius, in Sofia, and not gadding about making dangerous deals with slippery foreigners and potentially being hurt somehow.

'Is everything all right, Kreacher?'

'No, Mistress.'

'What's wrong?'

'Kreacher does not like this idea. Master Anu is very young. All of you are very young. Kreacher wishes Master Rumen would go, or Master Penko, or even Mistress Lyudmilla.'

'It would offend them if we did that, Kreacher. And neither of those countries are hostile to us.'

'That Master knows of. We didn't think Master Horace Slughorn would hurt children, but he has. He would again.'

Master reached up and gently took his hand, startling Kreacher deeply. 'We're sending wolves, Kreacher, good ones. They'll be well protected.'

'Kreacher knows the wolves mean well. Kreacher is afraid the Swedes and Norwegians might be trying to play Britain and Bulgarian off one another.'

Master Draco shook his head. 'We've got them in a headlock, Kreacher. They need the trade from the other countries that have joined, for one. Britain has nothing to offer them like that. And if we invaded them, Britain is hardly going to send them aid.'

Kreacher nodded slowly, not convinced. 'Master Draco, young people do not always understand how dangerous things are. Kreacher is old. Kreacher worries.'

Master Draco stood up so he was at eye level with Kreacher. 'We've faced worse things and lived, Kreacher. Besides, you're helping us by helping Snape and Sirius.'

'Thank you, Master Draco.'

'Is that everything, Kreacher?' Mistress smiled at him and he smiled back. He had so missed having young people to love.

No, Kreacher wanted to say, not even close. He wanted to tell them how much he worried about them, and how badly he wanted things to work out. He couldn't, though. He was a house elf, so all he did was bow and say nothing about his worries.

In a strange way, though, Kreacher was actually sort of comforted by what happened at dinner. He felt as though the Universe had heard his worries and responded, if in a fashion he mightn't have chosen had it been up to him.

Which is to say that a series of events played out that finally brought some issues long of concern to the fore. It started with the meal itself, which was buffet-style. The elves had set out an informal arrangement of carved meats, cold side dishes and, for dessert, a large and delicious-looking quaking pudding.

People went through the line to get their food and then stood chatting. Kreacher himself circulated, getting drinks and listening intently should things need to be discussed later.

Master Sirius was regaling the beaming Master Anu with stories of his youth. Next to them, the Kasks were discussing something about trolls with Master Luan Ismaili, and the Master and Mistress, with Master Draco, were speaking with the Weasleys about the political situation in Britain.

The Romanians were equally spread out, sometimes venturing to speak to the Bulgarians. Kreacher was watching them, owl-eyed to see if they'd try something. He'd sniffed everything before it was put on the table, and checked it a few times. Even Mistress's terrible cat was helping, reaching up from under the table every-so-often to hook something with his claws and give it a taste test. At least that what the beast indicated he was doing. Kreacher had his doubts, but he could tax the awful creature with them later. And he was, felt Kreacher, spending altogether too much time singing at the old woman Professor, but that was something for another day.

The first sounds of a problem brewing made Kreacher's head whip round, not an easy feat given how much his neck pained him. Master Draco was speaking, and the room was going silent.

'…are very concerned, Minister-Ministers, pardon me-about mimising collateral damage as much as possible. In the larger cities there is a sort of buffer zone between magical and muggle areas, but our smaller cities are not so fortunate. Should the Dark Lord attempt to repel us in these smaller areas, it would be a blood bath for those on the ground.'

Master Arthur Weasley opened his mouth as though to reply and then the trouble started. The Romanian under-Minister had come over, and he clamped Draco's shoulders. 'Casualties in this situation are unavoidable, lad. We mustn't lose sight of the main goal.'

Master Draco jerked free. 'Thank you, sir. I had nearly forgot that my country is being ruled by a genocidal maniac for a moment.'

'Most unfortunate, yes, but surely, a personage such as yourself must acknowledge that war is the great furnace which tempers wizards, a sort of purifying flame-'

'Purifying flames? Why don't you come with us and see for yourself what it looks like when one fires a city? Maybe listening to the screams as the people below you burn will give you some perspective.'

The room was very quiet. The under-Minister laughed in a strained, chortling kind of way. 'I don't doubt you had some bad experiences, lad, but surely the thrill of the thing-to drive one enemies before you, to crush them and hear the lamentations of their women-surely you can't deny the thrill of it?'

'The thrill of what, precisely? Watching the light fade from the eyes of my friends? Writing letters to tell their parents about the hideous way they died? Perhaps you'd prefer the thrill of using a chunk of wood to keep the rats from eating their soft parts, sir. Is that thrill you mean?'

'Collateral damage is unavoidable. What I meant was, it could prove to be a positive experience for some of those involved.'

'The winners, perhaps. What of the people on the ground, precisely? If you can tell me which part of their experience is apt to be positive, please do. The ones that don't burn or die in the fighting will starve, and troops on both sides are apt to rape if their blood is up. What part of that is positive, again?'

'The lives of a few muggles are a worthy sacrifice. The glory of-'

'GLORY? GLORY? WHAT PART OF THIS DO YOU NOT HEAR, YOU ASS? THERE IS NO FUCKING GLORY! IT'S ALL A LIE! ARE YOU THAT FUCKING STUPID?'

'How dare you, sir, question my intelligence?'

'I'M NOT QUESTIONING ANYTHING! YOU'RE FULL OF SHIT! WHY DON'T YOU TRY TELLING SOME PARENTS THEIR KIDS ARE DEAD AND WE'LL SEE HOW MUCH FUCKING FUN YOU THINK IT IS!'

The room was silent. The very air seemed to reflect a pregnant void, waiting for something to fill it, alive with the potential to turn any number of ways. Kreacher made himself invisible and floated over.

Master clapped Master Draco's shoulder. 'Drago, if you keep yelling you'll give yourself a migraine. They're expecting you in Stockholm at noon, remember?'

Master Draco took a deep, shaky breath. 'I do, actually. Think I might go and lie down.'

'All right. We'll join you in a few moments.'

Master Draco nodded. Master Sirius fell in beside him and the two left without another word. Kreacher followed them, still invisible. He watched them, vigilant to anything he might be able to help with.

When they were settled Kreacher brought calming draughts and glasses of hot milk. Master Draco downed his phial. 'That was…'

'Talk to me, kiddo.'

Master Draco shook his head. 'Nothing left to say, Sirius. I shouldn't have gone off.'

'It happens.'

'Think they're upset with me?'

'I think they know you're hurting. And you are, kid.'

'We talked about it in England.'

'Sure did. So what are we going to do about it?'

Master Draco shook his head no. 'I'm fine, Sirius.'

'No, you don't. You aren't fine.'

'There's nothing that will help.'

'How do you know?'

'How do you?'

'Because I think just about anything must be better than how you feel right now. Is that right?'

Master Draco set his jaw and crossed his arms. 'You don't know how I feel.'

'Not if you don't tell me.'

Kreacher swooped a little lower. 'Master Draco, Kreacher will see Mistress Narcissa soon. It would make Kreacher sad to have to tell her that Master Draco was being difficult.'

Master Sirius snorted. 'Subtle, Kreacher.'

'Kreacher serves the House of Black. Subtly has never entered into it.'

Master Draco smiled unwillingly. 'No need to trouble Mother, I'm sure.'

'Mistress Narcissa would want to know.'

'It would be a shame if you had a mysterious accident, Kreacher.'

'Kreacher is too crafty for that, Master Draco. Kreacher used to **cause **mysterious accidents.'

Master Draco tipped his head thoughtfully. 'I remember that.'

'For God's love, don't encourage him, Draco. It's all I can do to keep him from poisoning everyone who looks at him cross-eyed.'

'Actually, that might not be a bad thing.'

'Not you too, cousin!'

'No, no. I mean, since the wolves are going to start training people in…hell, we ought to call it what is it. If the wolves are starting to teach us espionage, then maybe adding poisoning to the roster wouldn't be a bad idea.'

Master Sirius blinked. 'Kiddo, that's…there's a line there.'

'I know that, Sirius. But it might come down to that. Snape won't always be able to do it for us, and we can't have show trials for every person who might…need a drink.'

Kreacher could smell Master Sirius's feelings, a mixture of grief and fear. 'Kiddo…I hate to see you need to do that. I hate that Kreacher had to do that, even.'

'Kreacher didn't mind, Master Sirius.'

'There's a surprise. Still, it's not…'

'No. But he knows, and we might need that knowledge.'

Master Sirius nodded. He seemed very tired, older now. 'I'll support that if-'

Kreacher shook his head. 'No. Kreacher won't do it.'

Both men stared at him. 'Kreacher?'

'If someone needs a drink, Kreacher will give it to them. It's not for wizards and witches to do.'

'We did it to Blagoev.'

'Kreacher didn't like that, either, but a show trial is different. If someone needs to be done away with in secret, then elves should do it.'

'What if we asked Hermione about your training the other elves? Niska or Blixo or someone?'

'Only if Kreacher gets a promise that the others won't teach any of the masters or mistresses.'

Master Draco looked very startled to say the least. Kreacher suspected he had never had an elf flatly refuse him anything like this. He nodded slowly and reached for Kreacher's hand.

'I shouldn't have assumed, Kreacher. I'm sorry.'

Kreacher let him take his hand, withered and cold in the lad's bigger, warm one. 'Master Draco, Kreacher will do anything you ask, except teach you things that will hurt you.'

'I didn't…I don't want to hurt anyone, Kreacher. But it seems wrong to me to demand the wolves do our dirty work for us. They're men, not animals, I know that now.'

Kreacher sighed. 'Master Draco, your heart is in the right place. But Kreacher has lost Master Regulus, and Master Sirius to doing what was right. Kreacher would rather do what's wrong to save our family.'

Master Draco wiped his eyes. 'Me, too.'

Master Sirius slid an arm about Master Draco and to Kreacher's utter shock, about him as well, mindful of his warped spine. 'Enough, the both of you. Snape and I will make this work. Just concentrate on Sweden and Norway, and don't let Anu climb anything.'

'He hasn't done that in a while.'

'Because he's not had the chance. He depends on you to remind him not to be daft about things.'

'I'm the perfect role model in that, surely.'

'Better than I am, anyway.'

'That isn't hard, Master Sirius.'

'And you wonder why I called you a manky little plonker that time.'

'Poor old Kreacher! Poor, faithful old Kreacher!'

'Please, you're hale as a twenty year old.'

'Oh, poor Kreacher! Kreacher has a bad heart!'

'He's been saying that for decades.'

'It's true!'

'No, it isn't.'

'Is!'

'Not.'

'Is! The old Mistress would be heartbroken to see loyal Kreacher treated this way!'

This would likely have gone on for some time had Master not poked his head in. 'Again, Kreacher?'

'Always, Master.'

'I must avoid irking you, then.'

'Kreacher recommends it, Master.'

Master Draco stood up. 'Take a walk with me?'

'That sounds nice.' The door closed and they went off together, speaking softly.

Master Sirius was gnawing a thumbnail, looking pensive. 'Kreacher?'

'Master Sirius?'

'I, er…well firstly, you mustn't tell Mother. Do you swear?'

'Kreacher swears.' He leant forward, intent on knowing this secret. He had always been able to read Master Sirius (and Master Regulus, for that matter) like a book. Whatever this was, it was quite an important thing.

'I, ah…I'm going to teach Madam Tamm some self-defense.'

Kreacher waited for the rest. Nothing was forthcoming. He gave Master Sirius a sharp, gimletty glare. 'Master Sirius?'

'What?'

'Is that polite?'

Master Sirius clenched his jaw for a moment. 'I'm sorry. I mean, beg pardon?'

'Better. What else is there? Master Sirius is holding something back from Kreacher.'

'She's a very fine lady, Kreacher.'

Kreacher got it. 'Ah.'

'There is no 'ah'. I just wanted you to know…know.'

'Yes, Master Sirius.'

'Don't you give me that! All I meant is, I wish she weren't afraid all the time.'

'Yes, Master Sirius.'

Master Sirius huffed. 'I don't know why I try!'

Kreacher chuckled too softly for a human to hear. 'Kreacher likes Mistress Sose as well.'

'Good. That's bloody wonderful.' Master Sirius drew his mouth up sourly and glared at no particular point in the room.

Kreacher smiled a little. 'Kreacher thinks so.'


	56. Chapter 56

**A/N:**  
**Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**  
**Starred portions are quotes from the writing of Edna Millay.**

In England, Ron Weasley was not smiling at all. Instead, he was focused on the job at hand, and in keeping his neck still as the woman shook him. His teeth were rattling in his skull, his head aching.

'Well?' The woman demanded. She wasn't tall but she seemed to tower above him. Everything was **big **now, and she was using a harsh voice that made him unaccountably nervous.

'Muggleborn?'

'Mudblood. A person whose parents are muggles is a mud blood, you stupid little boy.'

'No.'

'Are you cheeking me?'

He raised his head. 'No, Madam Carrow.'

'You had best not, either! Now, what is a person whose parents are muggles called?'

'Muggleborn.'

'Insolent boy! How dare you defy me?'

He didn't answer, just looked at her. He'd agreed to spy and fight, when the moment came, but he'd be damned before he used that word, even if she hit him. He had bruises on his arms from being grabbed, bruises on his legs from being pinched. He didn't care.

Alecto looked on the verge of real violence when her brother's vaguely rat-like face poked through the door. 'Allie, it's four o'clock.'

She subsided a bit, still glowering. 'Send him back, then, Amycus, must I do everything? And you, boy, I suggest you work on your attitude. The Dark Lord will not hesitate to order us to correct you. The Malfoys are clearly spoiling you rotten.'

Ron said nothing. He felt the snakes wriggling deep in his pocket and forced himself not to react. The elves had made his pockets very deep and charmed them to be invisible so no one would know, but it still made him edgy.

Amycus's bony hand caught his arm and jerked him toward the rug in front of the Floo. 'You, boy, wait here and don't you dare move, do you hear me?'

Ron nodded once. Amycus moved off, muttering a bit. An elf appeared, twitchy and anxious-looking. She looked down with big, sad eyes. He arms were bandaged, probably covered in marks like his.

'Muggy gets Master Ivan something?' She was looking at the bruises forming on his wrists and bare legs worriedly, clearly eager to help.

'No thank you, Muggy. Uncle?'

'Any moment, Master Ivan.'

Ron made himself smile at the elf. He pitied her, but she was a Carrow elf, and so she had to tell them what he said or did.

What could they be doing? Ron had a sudden flash of inspiration as to how he could find out, and maybe find a place for the snakes. 'Muggy? Toilet, please.'

Muggy looked worriedly at the library. 'We will ask the Master, all right?'

'Yes.'

She opened the door and, as he'd hoped, didn't think to restore the Silencing charms. Alecto's voice rang out.

'So you must win this Karkus and his kin to the side of the New Britain, Amycus!'

'I just don't see why I have to go, is all. Can't it be Goyle or someone?'

'Stop being a whiner.'

'I don't even see why we need them to-Muggy, what the hell are you playing at?'

'Master Ivan needs to use the lavatory, Master.'

'So walk him there. He's not pissed himself, has he?'

'No, Master.'

'Go on then, idiot.'

Ron was slightly irked when Muggy insisted on taking his hand to walk him down the corridor, but his protest died on his lips when he saw how the elf was glowing, eyes bright as she led him. It was obvious she got very little positive interaction, and if holding his hand made her day, so be it.

He stepped inside and reached into his pocket. He had a chocolate frog which 'Uncle' Rabastan Lestrange had palmed him earlier, a spare button from his jumper and some twine. He also had three small snakes, adolescents, who had agreed to act as spies. They looked at him with shiny, beadlike eyes, and then slithered into the various boltholes and crannies, vanishing. They were, he was told, smooth snakes from Dorset. He thanked them with a nod and a wave, flushed, washed his hands, and came back out. 'Thank you, Muggy.'

Muggy's eyes lit up when he solemnly handed her the button from his pocket. 'Take, Muggy. For you.'

She slipped the button reverently into her tea-towel and flung both scrawny arms about him, sobbing incoherently. The Floo hissed and she pulled back, taking his hand as they hurried to the parlour. Lucius Malfoy was standing there, looking about.

'There you are, Ivan.'

He smiled down. Ron smiled back, still a trifle uneasy. He was Hermione's uncle, and had never so much as raised his voice in Ron's presence, but Ron thought of the day Hogwarts had fallen every time he felt himself relaxing and that did the trick.

He lifted his arms, resigned, and the man scooped him up easily. 'Thank you, elf.'

Muggy sobbed, nodding. Ron, sensing this could be a valuable friend to have, said 'Muggy, Uncle. Elf is Muggy.'

'Muggy, then.'

Ron didn't like to Floo at the best of times, and Flooing being held in a mass-murderer's arms is…disconcerting, at best. But not terrible, so they touched down at Malfoy Manor more or less intact.

The snake met them. She slithered up, sniffing him all over, hissing at Feathering's pretty wife.

'Was Alecto manhandling you again, darling?'

'She shook me a bit, vas all.'

The snake hissed harder, sniffing his bruises. Hetty tugged his sleeves up and saw the blotches forming. She kept up a dialogue with Nagini as she did it, pointing to the bruises one by one and miming a pinch at each. Nagini's tongue flicked across the hot, aching flesh, sometimes putting her head up to hold forth.

'How was she today, Ivan?'

Malfoy's mother swept in, little adder about her neck like a strange necklace. She coiled down her arm and Ron took him, caressing his skull. The little adder reared back and hissed, tongue flicking so quickly Ron could hardly see it.

Narcissa looked at the forming bruises. 'I see. What was it this time?'

Ron stroked the little adder. 'They vanted for me to say a bad vord.'

'What bad word?'

He shook his head and the woman subsided, stroking his hair. Oh, that felt good. He closed his eyes and breathed, hearing the sound of a tin being unscrewed and gentle fingers smoothing more salve on, salve that would heal the marks in time for new ones tomorrow.

Nagini was still speaking, and finally Hetty giggled a little. Ron opened his eyes, curious. 'Vhat is funny?'

'Nagini is quite insistent that she's found the cure for our problems. She's demanding Narcissa go to Carrow and, well…eat Alecto.'

'Vhat?'

'The largest snake is the head of the brood. Narcissa is the tallest lady in our family, so if she ate Alecto, she would take her place in the hierarchy.'

Narcissa frowned slightly. 'I have a rather delicate stomach, unfortunately.'

'I've told Nagini it doesn't work like that, but she's very certain this will work.'

'Let me see what I'm doing later and get back to you.'

Nagini and the little adder were still not convinced. George coiled back to Narcissa, flicking his tongue against her ear urgently. Nagini took a more direct course, which is to say she wrapped Ron in her coils and squeezed, clearly daring anyone to object.

'Nagini, I am fine. Look, all better.'

The snake's head cocked slightly. Ron could sense she was not impressed with this. He relaxed into the powerful muscles, laughing a little when she tickled him with the tip of her tail.

'I have idea. Heard Alecto talking vith Amycus.'

'Shall we have your uncles hear your lessons, Ivan?' Narcissa's eyes darted to the Floo. He nodded, colouring.

'Sorry.'

'Don't be, darling. Let's go the Blue room, we've cakes and milk. And some chicken, George, so stop flicking me, please.' The little adder flicked her once more to prove a point and then nestled under her chin, making an indefinable sound of serpentine contentment.

The men were waiting for them, and soon they were all settled in, nibbling cakes and sipping cold milk. 'The snakes are down?'

'I put them on the lav. In the lav?'

'In the lavatory, yes. What did you hear?'

He explained what he had overheard. 'They vant giants. Karkus is Gurg of giants. Ve learn it in school in Bucharest.'

'The giants sided with them-with us-the last time we fought. It stands to reason that they'd want them again.'

Rabastan Lestrange nodded slowly. 'I was ambassador to the giants, four years ago.'

'Fancy a holiday, Rab?'

'I daresay I do, at that.'

In Sofia, Viktor was taking as close to a holiday as he was apt to get any time soon, which is to say he was resting, propped up on pillows. He was trying not to doze off, eying a small dense bundle of papers that belonged to Hermione.

A damp little hand touched his face. 'Viktor' said Edric companionably, and giggled. He tried to reach for the bundle and his hand bounced off the ward, prompting a small experimental fuss. Viktor pretended not to hear and Edric, as easygoing as ever, sat down and picked up his stuffed kneazle.

'Ki'y.'

'That's right, that's a kitty. Do we have a kitty, Edric?'

'Cr'ksh'ns!'

Viktor sat up and looked round. 'Where did he go?'

From the end of the bed, the cat lifted his head and snorted. Edric cheered, and Crooks, with ponderous dignity, rose and rubbed against him. Edric knew not to grab his friend's whiskers or tug the bristling, tempting ginger tail. Instead, he patted him with exaggerated care. 'Gen'le. Gen'le, Edric.'

'Good boy, that's just right.'

Edric sighed deeply, face getting slack and sad. 'Rada?'

'Soon, love. Rada is coming back to school soon.'

'A'right.'

Viktor sighed, wishing he could nap. Zdratza, of course, wouldn't let anything happen to the baby, but he was curious about what Snape had sent. He closed his eyes for a second, and Edric leant against him.

'Slee'?'

'Not right now, but soon, hopefully.'

He lasted another five minutes.

When he woke, it was nearly two hours later, twilight was falling, and Barty was leaning over him, gently scooping the baby up. Edric stirred and squealed to see his beloved Uncle Barty.

'U'le Barty! Apples?'

'She's at home, Edric. Hello, Viktor.'

'Hello, Barty.'

Barty plopped down. 'Are you all right? It's early to go to sleep.'

'It was a hard few days.'

'I heard about that.'

'Oh?'

'Scabior said everyone had to work very hard.'

'That's true. Did he say anything else?'

'That Chum died. I was very sorry. I told him so and we talked a bit. Remember how he used to ride on our heads?'

Viktor nodded. He trusted Scabior's discretion, but Barty picked up on things without much trouble sometimes. Barty handed Edric to Zdratza to be changed and seemed to contemplate something.

'Was everyone all right? The Romanians?'

'They were very kind to us, mainly.'

'Were there Englishmen there as well?'

'A few of them.'

Barty nodded, suddenly shy. 'Do you remember when I told you about that bad thing we did? Trixie and Rod and Rab and me?'

'I do.'

'I was asking Sev about it last time. It was all for nothing. Did you know that?'

Viktor swallowed hard. 'I've heard things to that effect.'

'Did anyone mention it?'

'It came up.'

'If they ever ask about it…I'm very sorry. I wish I could fix those people and take it back.'

Viktor clapped his shoulder, wishing he could say something comforting. 'No one thinks you wouldn't, Barty.'

Barty stood, Edric in his arms. 'Walk to the courtyard with us, Viktor?'

Hermione was talking to Aunt Sose. '-going to see a mind healer when he gets back. Should we have Anu seen as well?'

'Mind healer?'

'Someone who helps people deal with feelings about things that scare or upset them.'

Aunt Sose nodded. 'Does he need to, do you think?'

'I think it might be helpful for all of us to get seen. Just to be sure.'

Aunt Sose nodded again. 'Oh.'

'Would you be interested?'

'I, er…'

'There are lady mind healers.'

'All right, then.'

'You needn't if you'd rather not.'

'Is it all right if I think about it a bit?'

'Of course it is.'

The women both smiled to see Barty and the baby, who was snoozing, a finger in his mouth. The three got into the carriage and took off for Pernik.

'How did it go?'

'I think she'll say yes.'

'Does Anu need it, do you think?'

'It might be a good idea. I worry that he took losing his eye too well.'

Viktor slipped his arm round her shoulders. 'I've thought that too.'

'Really, I want Aunt Sose to go.'

He kissed the top of her head. 'How Slytherin of you.'

She poked him, grimacing. 'I'd hex anyone else who said that.'

'Even Drago?'

'Especially Draco. He needs to be hexed from time to time.'

Viktor hugged her one-armed, just glad to be there with her. Bess came over and nudged them both affectionately, chuffing her love and concern.

'Did we do the right thing, do you expect? Sending Drago?'

Hermione burrowed against him before she answered. 'I think so.'

It had been an agonizing conversation, to say the least. Drago had led him to the dorms, and settled on his own bed.

'That was an ugly scene. I'm sorry about it.'

Viktor nodded. 'You didn't do it on purpose.'

'No.' Drago hugged his knees to his chest. Viktor suddenly thought about the strutting, banty little fellow who'd tried to punch him and suppressed a grin. They still looked alike, to a degree, but Drago was no more that person than the moon was made of cheese.

'What happened?'

Drago was looking at the bed, the walls, everywhere but at him. 'I, er, have nightmares sometimes. When he started talking about…things…it was…I had to shut him up, was all.'

'He did seem quite a dense fellow.'

'And he wouldn't listen. It's not about glory. It's not!'

'I know that.'

'I'd trade it all if we could…if we hadn't had to…'

'It's all right.'

Drago shook his head no, and then rested his chin on his knee, looking very child-like, lost and alone. Viktor sat beside him and waited for him to speak.

'Do you still want me to go to Stockholm?'

Viktor gently pressed his back. 'Do you want to?'

'Yes.'

'All right.'

Viktor knew this next part would be hard. 'Drago, when you get back, I want you to see someone.'

'See someone?'

'A mind healer.'

He started to make a face but Viktor held up a hand. 'This is not up for negotiation. I rarely order you to do anything.'

Drago nodded. 'All right.'

'We'll all go. At different times, I mean.'

'Is anyone else having these problems?'

'Probably.'

'Do you?'

'I struggle. Differently, but I do.'

'With what? If you don't mind my asking.'

Viktor spread his hands, trying to find words. 'I worry about Hermione. She's **powerful**.'

Drago nodded. 'Does it scare you?'

'Sometimes it does. Because I love her so much, and I…if she wants this, I might not be able to…'

'It's hard to refuse her.'

'And it doesn't…it doesn't frighten me when she does it. It feels…'

Arousing, he'd thought, but not wanted to say. It made him feel like every nerve ending was on fire, like his blood was rushing both up and down at once, his breath was a low hard hiss in his chest and heart a drum thumping in his ears, lungs burning as he breathed the magic in the air, drowning and liking it.

Drago cocked his head a bit, a semblance of his usual humour returning. 'Oh.'

'What oh?'

'Just be careful, all right? I think…you know that's how my aunt and uncle…'

'Yes. We're very careful.'

'Not that we wouldn't be excited to have a little stranger in the family. Just not until we're older.'

'Has Yana got to you?'

'Of course. And it'd be nice, a niece or nephew to spoil and play with.'

'We do have Edric.'

'He'd love a playmate.'

'I'll feed you to Bess if you keep it up.'

Bess was currently gamboling with Fang and the pack, so Drago laughed, shaking his head. 'Bess loves me.'

'We all do. That's why you're getting treatment for this.'

'Hmmph.'

'If I need to enlist the mothers, I will.'

'You and Kreacher, mate.'

'It's not just tonight. Hermione isn't the only powerful person I know.'

'I'm not more powerful than she is.'

'No, but you're strong. We need to make sure that it isn't going to be an issue.'

'What, you think I'm going to snap and start hexing people?'

'I think we need to make sure that doesn't happen.'

Drago finally looked at him. 'It won't.'

'Not if we fix things now.'

Hermione stirred, bringing him out of his reverie. 'Upstairs or downstairs first?'

'Upstairs. I'm curious about what Snape's given you.'

Crookshanks had migrated to their pillows, and blatted crossly at being moved, even just to the end of the bed. Hermione scratched his ears and settled back, carefully untying the twine that held the small dense parcel closed. It parted under her fingers, and the first thing was a note, which flew out and hovered until Hermione took it.

"Madam Krum,

Given the political situation in Britain right now, it seemed expedient to send these things overseas to protect them. Please note that I have sealed some private papers, to be read only in the event of my death, and trust implicitly that you will respect that (I shall know if look-do not ask how).

Otherwise, I hope you shall read the things I've enclosed, and find some small utility in them. They are all that is left of someone for whom I had the greatest affectionate and filial devotion. I believe Eileen would want you to have them.

I remain, madam

Severus Snape, Potions Master."

Viktor raised a brow. 'Eileen?'

'Professor Snape's mother.' Hermione set the note aside and carefully brought out the rest of the papers enclosed. It was onionskin, fragile and blotted. The handwriting, he noticed, was very elegant for all that, curved and swooping as gracefully as the wings of a butterfly.

It wasn't much, the sum total of Eileen Snape's life. A few poems, a handful of letters, a picture, and the sealed sheath of papers Snape had referred to. Hermione dutifully set those last aside.

'Some of these are quite good.'

Viktor nodded, scanning the papers. He still had a little trouble sometimes deciphering English handwriting, which was so different from Cyrillic. But Eileen's had been clear enough to read.

'…I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the four full seasons of the year*, Tobias, my darling…'

'Tobias was the Professor's father?'

'He was.'

The letters stopped and the poems started, interspersed with a few letters apparently addressed to Snape as a boy.

"Severus,

I hope you are well at school. I'm sorry I could not afford more singlets to send with you. It must be very exciting, though, Second year already!

About last week-I'm sorry for that, too. I am not quite right in the head sometimes*, is all, my love.

That was an excellent mark on your astronomy, by the way."

Hermione brushed her fingers across the paper. 'She killed herself when the Professor was sixteen.'

Viktor touched the paper too, wondering if some of Eileen's brilliant, melancholy humours still lingered there, a few years distant from the ultimate catastrophe, the moment when she'd looked about and seen only darkness, the bright flare that faded, too soon, to silence and dark.

'How terrible for the Professor.'

'Don't tell him I've told you.'

'Never.' Snape deserved the privacy of his grief, and hurt, and confusion. Viktor could appreciate it; Viktor had lived it himself, after a fashion. Had it pushed him into the Dark Lord's arms? A parent who would never leave him, never drift away and leave just a trail of paper and ink in place of a beating heart?

Hermione set the things aside. 'Perhaps we should finish later.'

'I agree. Are you ready to deal with Grindelwald?'

'As I'll ever be. You?'

No, he wanted to say, never, but he went with her, because he loved her too much to send her alone.

An unseen visitor floated alongside them. Winky, twisting the hem of her towel, floated next to Kreacher. Kreacher himself was snorting and huffing, inaudibly to humans but quite loud enough to irritate the other elf.

'Stupid Winky bothering Kreacher and the family.'

'Master Barty sent Winky! Winky is a good elf!'

'Hmmph. Stupid elf, is more like it.'

'Shut up, Kreacher!'

'Winky shut up!'

'It isn't Winky's fault Kreacher is old and feeble!'

'It isn't Kreacher's fault Winky is stupid as a fireplace poker!'

They both hissed, and probably would have started clawing at each other had Mistress not frowned and held up a hand. 'Is someone there?'

Both elves made themselves visible. 'Mistress, Kreacher is here. And Winky.'

'Hello, Winky. How are you?'

Winky smiled, bowing. 'Well, Mistress. Master Barty sent us to see if we could help in Master Draco's absence.'

'How considerate of Barty.' Mistress smile back, clearly touched. Kreacher made a grumble of discontent, scowling darkly at the floor.

'Kreacher, Winky just wants to help.'

'Kreacher knows, Mistress. Kreacher is just worried that Winky does not understand what we mean to do.'

'Winky, we're to visit a very special wizard in a few moments. It is vital, absolutely vital, that no one know this person is here. Especially Barty or anyone else who might not be as discreet as we might like. Do you understand? I am commanding you to mention nothing of what you see and hear.'

Winky nodded, eyes welling. Mistress trusted her! Mistress wanted her help! 'Winky understands, Mistress.'

'Hmmph' said Kreacher. 'Why not just invite Norry while we're at it?'

Norry appeared. 'Someone called Norry?'

'Hello, Norry. We need you, to, er, guard…Crookshanks. Would you do that for us?'

Norry burst into tears. 'Norry is a bad elf! Norry will guard nasty bad cat Crookshanks!'

'Thank you, Norry.'

That matter resolved, the small group quietly made their way down to the cellar. The guard-elves parted for them, and then they were inside. The resident of the room was an old man, and Winky feared him. Gellert Grindelwald raised his head and grinned toothlessly.

'Ah, good. I was just starting to get bored. Madam, how well you look. And Krum. You look no worse, at least.'

'Charming as always, Herr Doktor.'

'So how was it, subjugating the Romanians?'

'Satisfactory.'

Grindelwald dipped his head once. 'Excellent. Why have you come to see me?'

'To ask you about magic, of course.' Mistress smiled a little at him, looking very pretty and terribly young. Grindelwald stretched, joints popping softly.

'What about magic? And where's the other one, the blond?'

'Draco's been called away. Do you know anything about dragons?'

'Dragons' breathed the old man reverently, bringing his hands together into a gentle peak. His knuckles were hard and knotted-looking, but powerful as well.

'Magnificent creatures. When I was a boy, hardly out of short trousers, one was sighted over the mountains, near where my aunt lived. Father called the men together-there were perhaps eighty of them, from seventeen to seventy-five-and handed out crossbows and swords charmed to burst into flame when tapped with a wand.'

'They went just as the moon was rising. I held Mother's skirts as they went. I never saw him again. My father. The beast killed him, even as he drove a sword into it's great beating heart. Three chambers, a dragon's heart has got three chambers. They brought the heart to my mother. It was black, and the blood was green. I remember that, the blood was green. It hissed when it hit the ground, and steamed. Fire is power. I realized that then.'

Mistress's eyes were luminescent as the moon on snow. 'And your mother?'

'Remarried. Not one for sentiment, my mother. My stepfather didn't like me. He was just some farmer, he couldn't even speak German. He sent me to my aunt's when I was seven.'

'In Britain?'

'No, in Dresden. Britain was later. It was a different world in those days. Things were sane then.'

'What changed?' Master, surprisingly, asked that one. Grindelwald leant forward, eyes sparkling.

'Finally, you ask the right question! Things fell apart just after the first Great Muggle War. 1918, was when it ended. I became aware of the need to move my plans up, seeing what those fools had wrought.'

'What they'd wrought?'

'Clouds that killed everyone who touched them. Machines that flew like brooms but spat death. Bombs, gun-wands. I realized then my plans had become unfeasible.'

'Plans?'

'The usual thing, I expect-power, money. Women, I was very keen on women, as young men often are. But seeing what those muggles had done opened my eyes. Have you seen the photographs, boy? Verdun, and the Somme, and Flanders.'

'I haven't.'

'Well, you should. I looked at us, with our lords and our arranged marriages and our ways that never changed, and I saw that we must, or else die. If we didn't master them, they'd overcome us. Their world was hurtling forward and ours was stuck, a relic from the middle ages. What else was there to do? I'd a responsibility to see our people were preserved.'

'You're claiming what you did was an act of altruism?'

'Not at all. I'm claiming I was smart enough to see what lesser men could only grope the edges of. I seized my moment, even as you did, and had it not been for Albus Dumbledore I'd have succeeded.'

'And then what?'

'Peace. Prosperity. An end to muggles stupidly killing one another.'

'Built on the backs of those you deemed beneath you.'

'Look round us, boy. Your grandfather you take on about-you never knew him. You know me. Whose vision has served you better, in the end? His, or mine?'

Master went red about the neck and his mouth snapped shut. Mistress touched his arm. Her eyes were still bright.

'Dragons, Herr Doktor?'

'Ah, yes. For you, my dear, dragons. Now, the first thing to remember is…'


	57. Chapter 57

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**There's some fairly strong content in this chapter. I sort of doubt this is potentially triggering, but it is pretty disgusting, so be warned.**

Stockholm, and Anders Loftstrom. He was sitting beside the Minister, bland-faced, eyes taking in everything and giving nothing. Draco fought the urge to try to rattle him a bit and instead smiled, dipping his head politely.

Beside him, Anu was looking straight ahead. He had said nothing since the meeting began. The Swedes, on the other side of the table, were silent as well, letting the quiet stretch out between them like a tablecloth woven of things said and things not said.

'_*Ships*.'_

'_*Yes, Minister*.'_

'_*How many ships?*'_

'_*However many you'd give us, and loan of your shipwrights in order for us to build more as a supplementary force.*'_

'_*And in return?*'_

Draco flicked his wand at the letters Viktor had sent, and they spread out across the table. _'*An exclusive contract between the Estonians and yourselves, for a seventy-year term. You get a guaranteed thirty percent of their moke's noses and they get thirty percent of your porlock's hairs .*'_

'_*And?*'_

Draco gestured to the map_. '*I am authorized to give you some very important confidential information, but only if you'll take an Unbreakable Vow. Will you_?*'

'_*What sort of information?*'_

'_*It seems within the realm of possibility that things will start happening soon. If Sweden wanted to be a part of that, we'd need the assurance that any information wouldn't potentially be compromised.*'_

'*You think Sweden means to sell you the Dark Lord?*'

Draco smiled brightly. _'*Of course we don't. That would really be very foolish, wouldn't it?*'_

'_*Foolish for whom?*' _

The Minister was bristling like a wet dog. Draco kept smiling, knowing how disquieting it was to others when he grinned for no reason.

'_*Why, for all of us. Bulgaria has rather a good grasp on the political situation in Europe, you see.*'_

'_*Would you clarify what you mean?*'_

'_*Even if you did betray us, sir, what good would it do you? If we found out, and attacked, who would defend you?*'_

'_*Surely the Dark Lord-*'_

'_*Do you know who my father and aunt are, sir? Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. Perhaps you've heard of them?*'_

'_*Of course I have, but-*'_

Draco held up a hand. _'*If the Dark Lord refused to help them, knowing full well how incredibly dangerous they both are-to say nothing of my other uncles, my mother and other assorted friends and well-wishers-what would make him help you?*'_

The Minister was nodding slowly. _'*I am not an Englishman.*'_

'_*Neither is my lord cousin, but when the time came for the Dark Lord to honour the treaty, he told the Bulgarians to go directly to hell. I know, I was there at the time.*'_

'_*The Bulgarians would keep their word?*'_

'_*My cousins always pay their debts.*' _He smiled a bit harder, and the Minister shifted, clearly getting the message. Beside Draco, Anu was looking at Mr. Lofstrom. Mr. Lofstrom stared right back.

'_*Suppose we did vow. Then what?*'_

Draco gestured to the sealed documents still sitting on the table. _'*More offers.*'_

'_*I see. Economic, you mean?*'_

'_*Amongst others. A new Europe would require leaders to serve the…ultimate designs of the project at hand.*'_

'_*To help your cousins.*'_

'_*There's no shame in serving others.*'_

'_*But no honour, either.*'_

'_*No? Mr. Tamm, do you believe that to be true?*'_

'_*No, Seneschal.*'_

'_*And what does a lad of twelve know of honour?*' _The Minister cocked his head like a budgie as though that ended things.

Anu said nothing for a moment. _'*I've fought in two different wars, Minister. I lost my eye at Castle Krum. This is better. Serving, rather than fighting, I mean.*'_

'_*Is the alternative to serving fighting, then?*'_

Draco considered carefully. _'_

_*The alternative is knowing that the war-and there will be a war-will find you regardless. There is a choice to be made here, Minister. If you choose to attempt neutrality, I can give you my word that Bulgaria will not invade. But you might find economic transactions have got rather more difficult to navigate. And someday you'll wake and find an army on your doorstep. Whether it's to defend your people or to sack your cities, that will depend on you.*'_

'_*Bulgaria would sack us?*'_

'_*No. Bulgaria would not stop Britain from it, though.*'_

'_*Why would Britain want to attack us if we're neutral?*'_

Draco spread his hands. _'*Why did the Dark Lord lure those foreign werewolves to Britain just to intern them in that squalid hellhole in Wales? He's not sane, Minister. You've seen the evidence of that yourself.*'_

'_*Bulgaria can prevent that happening to my people, is what you're saying?*'_

'_*Bulgaria is the best hope any of us have got.*'_

'_*Let me think about it, please.*'_

Anders Lofstrom rose. _'*Walk with me, gentlemen?*'_

In another part of Europe, a man was also walking. Rabastan Lestrange, clad in simple clothing, and with a stick to help him pick his way through the hummocks and marshy forests, was whistling as he walked. Over his other shoulder he had a large sack, stuffed with supplies.

It was quiet in the woods, ancient and dark. Above him, the stars shined down in beautiful indifference to him and all affaires of men. He smiled at nothing, breeze cool in his hair and on his neck. He felt free and simple here, just himself under the canopy of the night.

The watch fires were burning ahead of him, and he slowed down. 'Hail, watcher!'

A form moved from the shade of the trees. 'Humie?'

'Rabastan Lestrange, emissary of Great Britain, to see your Gurg.'

The giant bent closer, sniffing him curiously. 'Rab.'

'That's right, Rab.' He didn't smile, as giants don't show their teeth except in anger. Instead, he offered the first of his gifts, a bag of dead chickens. The giant popped it whole in his mouth and chewed.

'Come.'

Rabastan followed him, aware that talk in the encampment had stopped. He waved to those he knew, and to his concealed amusement he gained a tail of giant children as he moved toward the dwelling of Karkus, Gurg of the giants.

'Hail, Karkus. I come from Britain and Bulgaria to offer you tribute.'

The giant emerged. Twenty-three feet high, hair the colour of moss, smelling powerfully of mud and silt, wrapped in bear hides crudely stitched together. He knelt the ground shaking a little, and picked Rab bodily up. 'Rab. Gifts?'

Rabastan reached into his pack and handed out the first gift. He swished and it expanded-and expanded-until it was a huge and gleaming mirror, the frame in ornate curlicues.

The giant roared approval, sounding like a waterfall. He bent and swept Rabastan onto his shoulder. 'Lo, Rab. Long time.'

'It has been.'

'Dark Lord?'

'That's what I'd like to talk to you about, Karkus.'

Once inside the dwelling (a sort of huge tent of hide and bark), Rabastan pulled out the next of his gifts, a map of Europe and two portraits. The map he likewise spelled large.

'I come from my niece and nephew. They send you tribute as well.'

The children had done splendidly. Boxes of dried fish, boxes of wine, a huge amber necklace for Karkus's wife. The giants duly admired these offerings and then turned, curious, to the pictures.

'Children?'

'My brother's daughter and her husband. They are Gurgs of Europe, as far as the eye can see.'

'Humie Gurgs!' Karkus laughed at the idea and the others joined him. Rabastan wished he could communicate better, explain what he'd meant.

'They would like for our people to be friends.'

'Friends' agreed Karkus, and went back to munching fish. Rabastan enlarged the portraits, which were not true portraits at all but mass-produced lithographs of the children in formal dress.

'They will send you more tribute if the giants fight for us. More fish, and wine, and furs.'

'Dark Lord?'

'The Dark Lord is no man's friend, nor any giant's, either.'

'No friends?'

'Not to my family. He is determined to hurt us. All of us. We need your help to stop it.'

'And then fish?'

'And then fish.'

Karkus's wife was sitting and listening, holding a vast toddler to her bosom. 'Land.'

'Land?'

'Land for giants.'

'My niece rewards her friends well.'

'Land.'

'Land.' The children would find something, to be sure. The giantess, called Gunnilda, nodded, satisfied. 'Much land.'

'The giants will have a home for all time. Rivers with fish and mountains with game.'

'Goats?'

'Goats.'

The giants were examining his pack and rifling his cloak, which was more or less par for the course with giants. They shook things to see if they'd make noise, and sometimes broke them on accident, or else argued over who would hold them.

One of them found his wallet and opened it. Rab had thought to conceal his coins in his boots in case this happened, but not to remove his pictures. These were pulled out and passed round. 'Woman? Baby?'

'My wife, Eugenia, and our son Edric.'

'Son?'

'A baby, like your own son, Karkus.'

'Son Nergolt.'

'He's very healthy.'

'Yes!' Karkus nodded approval, showing off the plump toddler for Rabastan to admire. The giant-child, ten feet tall, gurgled and waved his fists, which looked big enough to maim already.

'Hello, Nergolt.'

'Lo.' The child put a fist in his mouth and sucked his thumb like a human child might. Rabastan missed Edric furiously.

'Where son Edric?'

'Bulgaria.' Rabastan swished at the map and Bulgaria bloomed with colours. 'The Dark Lord tried to steal him from us.'

'Dark Lord steal?'

'He tried to.'

'Steal son?'

'Yes.'

Karkus looked dark. 'Rab tell Karkus Dark Lord is friend.'

'He was, then.'

'Not now.'

'No. He wanted us to leave the children to die.'

'Dark Lord bad!'

'Very bad.'

Rabastan would have said more except the young giant who'd brought him in came back. 'Gurg Karkus, humies.'

'Humie here.'

'No, humies. Two. Two big.'

'Big?'

'Big big.'

Karkus gestured impatiently. 'Bring humies? Gifts?'

'Bag sheep.'

'Good sheep?'

'Good.'

Rabastan reached for his wand as subtly as he could. If it was Amycus, he was sure he could take him. If it was Amycus and someone else…Rab was good but he was no Bellatrix.

'Lampy!'

The tallest woman Rab had ever seen was stepping through the tent. 'Ello, Gunneelda.'

The next person was a man Rabastan knew. Rubeus Hagrid bowed to Karkus. 'Ello, Karkus, Gunnilda.'

'Hagger. Humie here. Rab.'

Both half-giants spun, Maxime with her wand raised. Rab held his hands out, empty, praying Hermione was a good judge of character. 'Please, I'm on your side.'

Maxime slowly lowered the wand. 'Mistair Lestrange, I theenk?'

'That's right.'

'We ave come on be'alf of the Lord Protectair and Vicereine of Bulgaria, and Arzair Weasley.'

'As have I.'

'No one meentioned eet.'

'Perhaps we could sit down and talk it over?'

The giants gave them a bit of space but were still clearly listening interestedly as the three awkwardly regarded one another. Rabastan showed them the letter, signed by Snape and his niece and nephew, that authorized his doing this.

'My niece, madame, has always spoken highly of you as a teacher and a person. I hope we might find some concord on this issue.'

'I do as well. Agrid, what do you theenk?'

Hagrid sighed deeply. 'Ermione always was a nice little girl. Used ter come to my house fer tea. But I must say, Mr. Lestrange, I'm not inclined to trust yer just yet.'

'I understand.'

Gunnilda had finally got the baby to sleep. She came over and sat with the group, bowling Rab over when her knee accidentally brushed against him. He sat up as the giantess reached up to stroke Maxime's glossy hair with one enormous finger.

'Lampy.'

'I ave missed you as well.'

Maxime caught him looking and put back her chin haughtily.

'What? It is not like you deedn't know I was a alf- giant.'

'Indeed, but blood purity is the least of my priorities now, I would say.' She could have been half giant squid for all of Rabastan.

'No? What as made you change your mind, I wondair?'

Rabastan summoned his pictures. 'My son, Edric. He's in Bulgaria for his own safety.'

'I am aware.'

'Then let's find a way our of our loved ones can come home for good.'

Gunnilda kept stroking Maxine's hair. 'Lampy home. Missed you.'

'_Oui, Maman_.'

Rabastan touched Edric's picture and swallowed hard, hoping for all their sakes they'd find a way to make this work.

Rita Skeeter thought so. She was bidding farewell to Nicolae, tears in her eyes. He cupped her cheek, grumbling softly. Oh, she'd miss him so much!

'Do what you need, Ree.'

She shook her head, pressing it to his chest. 'It won't be long.'

'No.'

'Wait for me?'

'Of course.'

They kissed a final time, and then Rita held out her hand to the elf. Do it, she willed the elf, do it before I lose my courage and ask to stay. Do it. The elf took her arm and they vanished, appearing in Gibraltar.

They were met by Llewellyn Rice, who looked as piratical as usual. 'Hello, Madam Skeeter. Your aunt sends her regards.'

'Oh, lovely.'

He handed her a small parcel. 'Pictures of your stay, some of her prized recipes, and some things she wanted you to have.'

'Thank you, Mr. Rice.'

He nodded. 'Ready?'

'No, but let's go.'

They set down in the Ministry. Rice bowed silently and moved off. Rita caught sight of Metellus and steeled herself. 'Metellus!'

'Hello, love. How is Aunt Maggie?'

'Better, a bit.'

'How nice. Shall we go home?'

Punky was beside herself to see Rita, crying joyfully. Rita had been well-briefed by Penko Krum, and started in on a long and tedious explanation of Aunt Maggie's exact problems, her fear of being alone and her beloved calico cat, Tiddles. Metellus nodded politely, clearly biding his time.

'So she's not going to get better, really.'

'She is eighty-four, Metellus.'

'Still. Why doesn't she move home? We could find her a very nice little flat near ours.'

Rita sank into a chair and kicked off her pumps. 'I spent two weeks insisting, but she wants to live where Uncle Adam was last. You know how it is.'

'Sounds like my Grandmama Selwyn.'

Rita nodded. 'What happened whilst I was gone?'

'Not much.' Metellus sighed, rubbing his eyes with his hand. 'This situation in Bulgaria is getting worse.'

'Is it?'

'Walden's been writing that Frenchman about things. Morreau, I think? He went to their little conference back in…well, a few weeks ago.'

'Oh?'

'Said not a one of the ministers would give them the time of day. They know which hippogyff to bet on, is what I think, but it still makes me nervous.'

'Why should it, Metellus? It isn't as though they have any real power, not after this.'

He nodded morosely. 'With my luck, I'm the one who'll have to go talk to them about it. These foreigners are slippery, Ree.'

She stopped his talking with a kiss, skin crawling. He tasted like stale coffee and lozenges and onions. He stood up, ran his fingers too hard through her hair, his lips clumsy and searching. She made herself smile as Metellus began to undo the buttons on her blouse, cold hands groping for her breasts.

Nicolae, she thought sadly, and led him to the bedroom, prepared to do her duty to end the madness, even if it would be disgusting in the short-term. The long-term as well, she suspected, as Metellus crawled across her body and began.

The next morning Nigel greeted her with suspicious excitement. He held her hand a beat too long, and smiled too widely. 'Rita, how good to see you!'

'And you, Nigel.'

'I've an assignment for you.'

'What's that?'

His eyes darted like a trapped animal. 'I need you to show the witches of Britain our fiercest line of defense.'

'I don't follow.'

'Greyback's man will meet you outside the Manticore pub in Mallwyd. The actual camp is some distance north.'

Rita got it.

She saw them coming toward her as soon as she left the Manticore, a knot of men in dark clothes. One of them bent and took her hand as though to kiss it. He raised his head and mouthed 'Nicolae' at her. 'We are pleased to see you, ma'am.'

She relaxed a touch. 'You are too kind.'

They Apparated her side-along, and then flanked her on the journey, which was short, shorter than she might have liked. Well before the camp was in sight, the smells started, a miasma of stenches she could hardly parse or wanted to.

'Oi, Marko.'

'Oi, Spike. Got the bird.'

'So you do. Take her in, then.'

She followed them, head back. The streets of the camp were mud. Mud, and…Rita bent and threw up as quietly as she could, realizing what some of the muck was. She heard a low buzzing and looked to her left. Fat clusters of flies swarmed lazily near a crude ditch, baking in what little sun there was.

Gaunt, dirty children clustered about them, asking for food in any number of tongues. Their grasping little hands plucked her clothing, whining piteously. Rita inhaled, eyes prickling, forcing every reporter's instinct she possessed to the fore to keep from reacting.

The wolves seemed not to notice. They shoved through the children, some of whom had the swollen bellies which bespoke starvation. The others formed up round her, and began leading her double-time through Greyback's kingdom.

Rows of huts flanked each side of the main thoroughfare, crude buildings made of rotting wood and more mud. Most of them didn't so much have doors as they did curtains of fabric which blew in the breeze. Rita could see people inside, moving guardedly, sometimes daring to peek out. A few brave souls came into the mire to watch them go by, eyes devouring her as she passed. Rita could feel their hatred on her skin like ants, taking in her smooth clean skin and whole clothing and loathing her for them.

As they walked, a small group passed the opposite way, a few scrawny women pushing huge cauldrons. More people were coming from the huts now, holding bowls in front of them as the queue to get food formed.

Greyback's own dwelling was very like that of his people, which is to say, a foul-smelling hovel set near the mountain. She was ushered into his presence, not sure what to expect of the man who'd brought this thing into being.

He was enormous, for one, taller even than Galvin Goyle. Nearly seven feet tall, he sprawled on a once-fine chair, scratching himself as she was announced. He made no move to rise or bow, but looked at her with yellowed eyes of otherwise indeterminate shade. His stench, even in this pestilential place, made her eyes water.

'The reporter, then.'

'That's right. It's good to finally meet you, Mr. Greyback.'

He made a rude noise. 'If you say, woman. I've not got all day. Ask your damned questions.'

Nigel had given her a list of questions to ask, and that's what she started with. Greyback yawned, answering in one and two word sentence fragments. She couldn't start to craft an interview, even a canned one, from this. Finally Rita, with a thought to her friends in Bulgaria, decided to be proactive. 'May I ask you something, Mr. Greyback?'

'Been asking me.'

'Where are your people? I see children but very few adults.'

'Working, the ones that aren't sick.'

'Working where?'

Greyback sat up and gestured about himself. 'Does this place runs itself, woman? Someone has to tend the farms and dig coal and fish. You think wizards will stoop to it?'

'Your people are the backbone of Wizarding Britain's industries, is what you're saying?'

'How the hell else? When was the last time you dug coal or planted turnips or fed cows?'

'I never have.'

'Exactly. The Dark Lord gives us a cut, and we make what we can't buy with that.'

'Oh. Perhaps you would introduce me to your employees?'

'Employees? Fuck, boys, you hear her? Employees.'

A gust of harsh laughter. 'Sound off, and then get her the hell out, I've things to do. Or' he suddenly grinned, showing broken, stained teeth 'ask her to stay for lunch.'

A few of them slipped out as the rest told her their names, nationalities and a bit about themselves. She could hardly bear to touch them. These men were worlds away from the polite, scrupulously clean wolves she knew in Bulgaria. A few of them openly undressed her with their eyes, and one bent toward her and smelt her.

'Smells like the city, and that cunt Travers.'

'Stop that, you twat!' Greyback snarled and went back to his brooding. One of his men had come back in, bearing a bowl which he handed to her.

It was soup, she supposed. A thick swampy-looking mixture of things she couldn't possible bear to drink. They were looking at her. She raised it to her mouth and almost parted her lips when…

She flung the bowl from herself so hard it shattered against a wall. 'That…that…oh God.'

'I don't think she likes it, boys!'

The group laughed again. One of them bent down, picked up the thumb from where it had fallen, and popped it in his mouth. The crunch was like conkers, she thought, and then was sick again, violently, everywhere.

'Take her out, Maidiu. I'm sick of her.'

This one, she thought, wasn't so bad. He collected her and helped her to find her way out. 'That must have been an ugly sight for you, ma'am.'

'It was a shock.'

'It's the most efficient way. So many aren't strong enough to serve any other way. And we do follow the law of the jungle here.'

'Of course.'

The way out seemed shorter. As they approached the gate a whistle blew, seemingly from nowhere, and pops echoed as people, men and women, appeared, stumbling with exhaustion, most of them covered in dirt or coal dust.

'The midnight shift.'

'Ah.'

'Well, I do hope it was…your article turns out well.'

'No doubt it will. You aren't from the Continent, sir?'

'No, county Mayo. Matthew Reilly, at your service.'

He looked round. 'Those fellows were supposed to see you back and-there they are. Took you long enough, Ned.'

'Sorry. Ready, Madam Skeeter?'

She let him take her arm. The smiling werewolf waved and then she made the connection, and might have thrown up again had they not vanished at that moment.


	58. Chapter 58

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes and CB**

**I'd really appreciate hearing what people think of the story. It feels like things have been really quiet lately.**

Arthur Weasley set down his mug and sighed deeply. 'You needn't go, Remus.'

'Of course I do. It's the least I can contribute to things.'

'Don't feel as though…as though…'

'I've a moral obligation. I do. These are my people, however little I might like that. To be able to help this situation and refuse would be reprehensible.'

'Do you want to send the response now, then?'

'Please.'

Remus looked agitated, even as he told Snape's half-mad elf that he'd do it. The elf bowed and set to reply. Remus sank into a chair, hands shaking a little. Arthur wished he had some advice for the younger man, some soothing panacea that might help to ameliorate the strain of this.

He didn't, though. He ran a hand through his hair, which was more silver than red these days, and slumped a little. His son was apparently doing well in England, but that didn't ease his mind. And now this…

'Arthur?'

'Remus?'

'Thank you. For trying, I mean. It was kind of you.'

'I would be very sorry, Remus, should something happen to you.'

'So will I, but the ghosts of those murdered muggles will haunt me forever if I don't do my damndest to stop this.'

'That was Metellus Travers, not Greyback.'

'They all work for him. And Wales is no better. I've heard what those Romanian wolves call me as I go by, Arthur.'

'They've their ideology and you've yours, is all.'

'Ideology? I suppose. But Sirius was right. Dangerous fanatic or not, Pavel gets things done. What have I ever done for others in my situation?'

Arthur clapped his shoulder. 'You've done what you could.'

'Not enough. I ran, and hide, and when the moment came, I said nothing when the Minister sent those men to Bulgaria.'

'What would you have said?'

Remus shook his head. 'I wish I knew. I feel like this could be a fresh start, of sorts. I can decide to make a stand.'

'We will support you no matter what you decide, Remus.'

'Thank you. I'm going to tell Tonks before she hears from someone else.'

Arthur watched him go, and then went to find his own wife and give her the bad news.

Dinner that night was quiet. The children had been subdued since Ron left, and they picked morosely at their food, speaking mostly English out of deference to their parents' wishes, but rarely, and without much conviction.

Finally Ginny set down her fork. 'Tata? Remus is leaving to help the family of Hermione, yes?'

'To help Severus Snape, Ginny. The Potions master, remember? The ugly one?'

She frowned. 'He looked like a _liliac_, like a…bat?'

'That's right. Remus is going to help him capture the man who orchestrated-who arranged-the poisonings a few weeks ago.'

'Oh. Is he a Death Eater? Snape?'

'That's a complicated question, Ginny.'

'He lives with Ion now? Ron, sorry.'

'No, Ron lives with Hermione's aunt and uncle Malfoy.'

'They helped to capture Hogwarts, right? Petru said Malfoy is there when Hogwarts is fallen.'

'Yes.'

She ate a little roast beef. 'I wish Ion is home.'

'We all do, sweetie. Is everything all right, boys?'

Percy and the twins were likewise quiet. 'Dad, we've been thinking. I'm an adult now and the twins will be next year.'

'I seem to remember that, actually.'

'We want to sign up to fight.'

Molly dropped her fork. 'What?'

'We're Englishmen too. Aren't we?' Of all the children, Percy had retained the best command of his first language.

'How's it going to look if the Minister's sons get an exemption, Dad?'

'Ronald-'

'Is fighting under cover. We need to be seen to be one hundred percent behind Bulgaria, Dad.'

The twins were both nodding. 'And besides, we're good flyers. Ferka and I want to join the air corps.'

'What about you, Percy?'

Percy crinkled his brow as he did when deep in thought. 'I'm not half-bad at defense, but I'd rather be a support person. Anything is good, really.'

'Ginny?'

'I would like to help too.'

'Ginny, no! Arthur, don't encourage this!'

'Malfoy was as old as me when he made the army, Mama. I want to do my part.'

Molly raised her apron to her face. 'All my children…'

'Mum, Gina is right. We should all do our utmost. We have to set an example.'

Molly dropped her apron and took Percy's hand. 'You remind me so much of your uncle sometimes, Percy. He would have said just the same thing.'

'My uncles were a brave men, Mum. They would have hated what's happened in Britain.'

'Yes. Your uncles would want us to help. So I suppose that we all ought to go. Arthur?'

'Molly?'

'I'm signing up as well.'

'Mum! We can't take our mother to war with us!'

'You shan't. I intend to ask Hermione if I could help train the aurors.'

Hermione herself was training. She was sitting very near to Severus Snape, his hand on his shoulder as he tried to force his way into her mind. She could feel his mental fingers gently brushing against her defenses and lashed out with her mind, pushing him off.

Snape broke eye-contact, rubbing his temples. 'Well done, Madam Krum.'

'I haven't hurt you?'

'No, I was simply surprised. Again.'

They went three more times, each harder than the last. Snape was pushing more, being less gentle each time. Hermione cast him off once more but lost twice, which led to a draw of sorts.

'Enough. How have you been?'

'Tired, Professor. We're working to bring this together. And when Draco gets back, we're all getting assessed by a mind healer.'

'Excellent. I am glad to hear that.'

'How are you?'

'As well as I could ask. Mr. Weasley is also well.'

'I thought he would be. My aunt and uncle are kind people.'

'It's comforting to have a child about, even one that actually isn't. He's being tutored by the Carrows, however.'

'Oh, no!' Hermione's heart skipped a beat. 'Have they hurt him?'

'Alecto is Alecto, but she hasn't seriously battered him.'

'Yet.'

Snape dipped his head. 'If I could tell you differently, my lady, I would do.'

'I know. Professor?'

'My lady Krum?'

Hermione hoped this was the right thing to say. 'Thank you for those letters. She was awfully bright.'

'She was.'

'It must have been hard when…'

'Yes.'

She wished she could tell him what she really thought, that it was terrible that he'd had to go through that, and poor Eileen. Viktor had, after careful consultation with the priest, had prayers offered for her, and Hermione herself had asked Scabior to sacrifice to Eileen's shade on her behalf.

'If you wanted to…someday…I'd like to hear a story.'

'About Eileen?'

'If it didn't hurt too much.'

Snape's face twisted oddly, as it did when he was trying not to show pleasure. 'Someday, my lady. Quid pro quo? I have always wondered what you were like as a little child.'

'Really?'

'Given how disobedient you were as a First-year, I imagine the answer is quite naughty and difficult.'

Hermione giggled, feeling pleasantly piqued by the remark. 'I wasn't either! I was a good girl.'

'That is most improbable, at best.'

'Isn't!'

'I shall add contradictory to the list as well.'

'Kreacher, do you think that of me?'

The elf appeared and smoothed a bit of hair back into her scarf. 'Yes, Mistress.'

Hermione giggled again. She felt normal like this, protected and teenaged. It was extremely comforting.

'You're both terrible. Is everything all right, Kreacher?'

'Kreacher thinks Master Snape should take Norry back to England when he goes.'

'Why is that, Kreacher?'

Kreacher shrugged one-shouldered. 'Punishment for Master Snape's sins?'

'Kreacher!'

'Norry is making Kreacher insane. Bellowing like a mooncalf, dropping things, making messes worse. Kreacher wishes he had fifty elflings to tend, rather than half a Norry.'

'Kreacher, Norry has had a terrible life. We have to be kind to him.'

'Kreacher is being kind. Kreacher has not arranged an accident for him yet.'

Hermione snorted helplessly. 'Professor, help me.'

'Killing Norry would be counter-productive, Kreacher. You should sic him on Black as his new valet.'

'Professor!'

'Kreacher is nervous every time Norry is with Winky. Kreacher loses sleep every time that happens.'

'Why, Kreacher?'

'Suppose they should fall in love, Mistress? Their elflings would be unbearable.'

'It might bring them both a little happiness, Kreacher.'

'And Kreacher an early grave! We are old and sick, Mistress. Kreacher needs calm and quiet, not terrible elflings.'

Hermione took his hand. 'I promise if that should happen, Niska will deal with things.'

'All right.'

She looked round and swished a Silence bubble. 'We might have found the poisoner, Kreacher. We'll need Norry to identify Matthews if it's him.'

Kreacher's eyes lit up. 'Kreacher is sorry for complaining, Mistress. We are glad to hear it.'

'So are we. Once we've got Matthews we'll have a toehold, Kreacher.'

'Kreacher thinks so. Old Mistress would like Mistress to come and see her.'

'Later, Kreacher, all right?'

Kreacher bowed and went to pursue his own ends. Hermione smiled at his retreating back and turned back to Snape.

'So Lupin will do it, Professor?'

'I think he will. Whatever I might think of Lupin personally, I believe he will honour his word.'

Hermione nodded. 'He seemed all right.'

'We did not get along as schoolboys, but it is most convenient that he is willing to help.'

'It does tend to show they're sincere.'

Snape nodded and, after a careful pause, gingerly clapped her shoulder. Hermione sat stock-still, startled but not displeased.

'Since that's taken care of, we'll try again. Keep pushing back, you won't hurt me.'

Bess, who'd been snoozing by the ornamental birch, barked once as Sirius-Salazar bounded in.

He changed back. 'Remus is in. Darling, has Snape been working you too hard? You're flushed.'

'We're practicing Occluding, Sirius.'

'Good girl, I'm glad. He isn't being dreadful?'

'Professor Snape is never dreadful, Sirius.'

'That's what you think. I remember this time-'

'It would be a shame, Black, if I had to strangle you with your own tongue in front of the girl.'

'See? He's threatened a messenger.'

'My lady, you'll wish to step back, the blood will likely spurt quite a lot.'

'Now, Professor, Sirius is teasing you because he's fond of you.'

'He's teasing me because he's a manky berk.'

'I'm manky? I wash my hair.'

'All that soap seems to have quite missed your mouth. Perhaps Kreacher would rectify that.'

'I should like to see him try.'

'Kreacher accepts that challenge, Master Sirius.'

Hermione laughed helplessly as the elf appeared, grinning maliciously. Sirius had the good grace to look a little startled and then gave the elf a rather good imitation of Snape's sneer.

'A Black, agree to such a thing?'

'Master Sirius, Kreacher has served the Blacks for 370 years. Kreacher knows how things go.'

'Not when I stuff you and use you as a wand stand, you little toerag.'

Hermione shook her head. 'All of you, really. One would almost think you don't like another.'

'What fun would it be if we did, love?'

'Why don't we talk about this plan with Lupin, Sirius?'

They sat down and did just that.

Anu had, in some ways, fought a cleaner war than most of his friends and loved ones, at least the second time around. After he'd lost his eye, the others had made abundantly clear that he was to stay out of danger, at the risk of unspecified but distinctly sinister consequences, culminating when Uncle Lucius (though he'd just been Malfoy's Baba then) had patted his back and suggested casually that it would unfortunate should he and Anu have to have a private discussion about any failures to obey which might occur. Anu got the hint.

So mostly his war was inside the ships, tending the wounded, passing out supplies, helping healers, and soothing his classmates as they'd died. More than once, he'd simply crawled in with someone not long for this world and let them hug him. Most of them, the ones who'd been crying for their siblings, relaxed a little and the healers, seeing it, would come with liquid mercy and make their final moments as calm as possible.

His walk with Drago and Mr. Lofstrom had been like that, because Lofstrom had spoken of nothing for five minutes and then, turning, said bluntly 'Sven is going to die.'

Anu had been there when he'd been brought in, chest crushed from a collapsing wall (unbeknownst to any of them, it was the same collapse that killed Borislav Kounev, and in much the same way). Lofstrom Jr had been waxy-blue, lips moving, blood oozing from his mouth. It was almost black, remembered Anu, trying not to think about it too hard. It had been a miracle the healers had been able to save him even as long as this.

'His organs are failing. He would like to see you before he dies. Will you come, Malfoy? Tamm?'

'Yes, sir.'

'We will.'

Lofstrom Sr nodded and extended a hand. 'We'll side along. Hold tight, now.'

The house he took them to was pregnant with grief, and anticipation. Elves moved in black togas, shrouding portraits and mirrors in swags of velvet, sobbing. They could hear a voice upstairs, singing or reciting something, and another, fainter one in reply.

It was there Lofstrom Sr took them, face stiff and agonised. Ilya Arbanas was sitting on the bed, an open book spread in front of him. His face was swollen with weeping and his nose bright red at the tip.

He stood, seeing them, and bowed stiffly. They both bowed back. In the bed, Sven Lofstrom smiled a little, shades of the old arrogant Sven. 'You came.'

'We did.'

'I will be in my study, boys.'

Anu shook his head as the walls flickered a little, seeming to become planks, and one bed stretched in fifty, into a hundred, into a thousand, all of them filled with a moaning person, reaching for him, asking him to fix them, to take their pain. Drago, at least, wasn't feeling it; he fearlessly approached and sat in the chair by the bed.

'Hello, Lofstrom.'

'Malfoy. Tamm.'

Anu made himself follow Drago. Arbanas had retreated to the divan and was sitting on it with a shocked, uncomprehending stare. He looked rather like Anu felt, actually.

'Wanted to tell you…about that day. Sorry.'

Drago looked for permission before he took the dying lad's hand. Lofstrom coughed, and blood spattered his lips. Anu reached automatically for a basin and then held it front of him. Lofstrom spat a bolus of gore and mucus into it, wiping his mouth with his hand.

'Tell her?'

'We will. She forgives you.'

'You?'

'I forgive you too.'

Lofstrom nodded once. 'I keep dreaming of my mother. Every night she gets closer. She'll be here soon and then I'll go.'

Arbanas made a choked sound and Anu realized he was holding in sobs. He hunched, hands over his face, crying as softly as possible. Lofstrom tried to sit up and couldn't, fell back.

'I've told my father…make the Minister give the ships. My last request.'

'You mean it?'

'Make up for what I did. Thought I could seduce her. I swear to God, I wouldn't have done it if she'd said no.'

Lofstrom was crying as well, big tears that ran soundlessly down his cheeks. 'Swear to God, I wouldn't. Ilya neither.'

'I believe you.'

Lofstrom sniffled, and Anu reached into his tunic and handed him his handkerchief, the one Drago scolded him if he didn't have. He had to blot Lofstrom's cheeks dry, but that was all right. Anu found the familiarity in it oddly reassuring. He couldn't fix Lofstrom, but he could help give him an end that was better than it would be otherwise, perhaps.

'Make sure she knows?'

'I'll tell them both.'

'Krum was a better man than me. I know it now.'

'It's pretty damned generous for you to give us the fleet.'

'Selfish. Want my name in the books.' Lofstrom smiled crookedly, a bit of his old handsome smile. His teeth were limned in blood.

'I'll see to it.'

'All right.'

His head went back. '…Rest now.'

Drago released his hand. 'Arbanas?'

Arbanas was still crying. Anu exchanged looks with Drago and then, very carefully, sat next to the older boy, who'd once bloodied his nose. Arbanas ignored him. Drago gestured with his eyes, and then went toward the door, where, supposed Anu, Lofstrom Sr was waiting. It was his blind side, and anyway, he'd rather have dealt with Arbanas.

He took up a goblet of water from the table. 'Have you slept?'

Arbanas's voice was rough. 'Not lately.'

'Or eaten?'

'No.'

'You need to.'

'I'm not hungry.'

'Just a little bit, Arbanas.'

'Ilya' said Lofstrom Jr from the bed 'the kid is right. Both of us dying would be a waste.'

'Stop joking about that!'

'No! Fuck you!'

They glared at one another until Lofstrom laughed weakly. 'You always were hardheaded, you Croatian son of a bitch.'

'I piss in your bloodstream.' Arbanas leant over and touched his friend's forehead. 'You want us to change the bed?'

'Would you? I seem to have soaked the bedding again. Fucking fever.'

'Should have said something. Don't just lie there in that!'

'What, I was supposed to interrupt that moment with Malfoy to announce I had sweat pooling around my balls?'

'Shut up, Lofstrom.'

Elves helped Arbanas lift Lofstrom up as others quickly changed the bedding. Anu helped as best he could, changing the pillow cases and sending the elf for something for Arbanas to eat.

'Ilya, stop being a prick and eat. I mean it, I'll haunt you if you don't.'

Whilst he was eating, Anu carefully swished his wand at the bed, expanding it.

'After I lost my eye, it made me feel better to have someone sleeping with me for a bit. Maybe it would help…?'

'It might.'

Arbanas gobbled his sandwich and laid down, letting the elf remove his boots. He was asleep in seconds, right after he had Anu ward him to make sure he couldn't kick in his sleep.

'Help me drink some water?' Anu did it, and then held the basin again as more of that bloody sputum came up.

'This is…fuck me! Fuck dying! God damn it to hell!' There was a stain spreading across the bed. Lofstrom had tears in his eyes.

'That's the worst part, Tamm, the fucking **indignity** of it. Pissing myself like a goddamned baby. Fuck fuck fuck!'

Anu tugged the covers off as the elves came with fresh and then averted his eyes as they changed Lofstrom's nightshirt. Arbanas didn't stir, so deeply asleep he looked carved from stone.

Lofstrom dragged his sleeve across his eyes, hand falling away. 'So now you know.' Anu shrugged and sat back down. 'It happens to everyone.'

'How the hell would you know?'

'Happened to me right after I lost my eye. Couple of times.' Which was actually true-when his eye had been blasted out his bladder had released. No one had seemed to notice, even Aunt Cissy, thankfully.

'Crazy little son of a bitch, Tamm.'

'It was worth it.'

'Feathering should've taken the hide off of you.'

'He did.'

'Bah, weak English beating. A Swede would have striped you properly.'

Anu smiled a bit. 'I still can't sit down comfortably.'

'Don't believe it. I'm sorry about the things I said about your mother that time. She's a fine lady, I'm sure.'

'She is. Don't feel bad, all right? She forgives you.'

'You did right that day. I'm glad…wouldn't want to have been the fellow who hurt Krum's girlfriend. We wouldn't have meant to, but…maybe this is better. Tamm?'

'Yes?'

'I'm afraid. Don't tell anyone.' Lofstrom grabbed his hand and held it with surprising strength.

'All right.'

'Ask Krum something for me?'

'I will.'

'Ilya will need help. Krum will do whatever he can if you ask. Make sure he's Ilya is all right, you and Malfoy and Krum.'

'Men of Durmstrang keep their vows.'

'Too fucking right they do. And take care of the fleet. You sons of bitches get rid of that lunatic in Britain or I'll haunt all your arses.'

'We will.'

Sven nodded, eyes drifting shut. 'Your word?'

'I swear on my Nene's name.'

'Good enough.'

Drago came and got him an hour later. There were wet patches on the shoulders of his tunic and he looked terribly sad. Anu said nothing until they were in their lodgings.

'Mr. Lofstrom?'

'He was weeping. I couldn't…kept thinking about what I'd want someone to do for Father if it came to that.'

'It won't.'

Drago laughed softly. 'How do you know?'

'It just won't.'

'Was it all right with Lofstrom and Arbanas?'

Anu relayed his experiences, editing the part about Lofstrom wetting. No one had ever told on him, after all, so he figured it was right to do the same for Lofstrom.

'Did it bother you?'

'No. That's what I did when everyone was fighting, remember?'

'I do. How are you doing with all this, by the way?'

Anu sat down on the bed, sighing. 'It hurts.'

'Does it?'

'Does it you?'

'Yes. I hope I didn't scare you the other night.'

Anu shook his head, and then rested his head on his knees. 'No. It's scary when that happens, with the memories.'

'Flashbacks, and yes, it is.'

'Is that what happened?'

'Yes.'

'What do you see?'

Drago mimicked his pose. 'All sorts of things. What about you?'

'After the first battle at Castle Dinev. There were all these dying people everyone, and they were all screaming and crying. We couldn't help them very much. I wish we could have.'

'I do too. It bothers me-it bothers me to know we're going to have to do it again. Because you know, before it was…it happened. I made it happen, but it was…they had a choice. Now we all have to go. I don't want to watch them die, Anu, or you, or Vaike.'

'You won't.'

Drago ruffled his hair. 'You're very sure.'

'I am.'

'Why?'

'A feeling.'

'You have feelings like that a lot?'

Anu realized what he was driving at and shook his head. 'Not a vision or something. Just an instinct, I guess.'

'Do you remember the last time, when I made you swear not to get hurt?'

'I do.'

'Good, because I swear, Anu, if you get hurt a second time, I fully intend to beat you to within an inch of your life.'

'Lightning never strikes twice, Drago.'

Drago rolled his eyes and then sobered. 'We have the ships now.'

'We do.'

'Once we have the dragons, we'll be almost ready.'

'And the troops.'

'And the troops. Then Britain will burn.'

'Maybe not.'

'Do you believe that?'

'No.'

'Neither do I.' Drago got very quiet and Anu sat with him in silence, knowing that sometimes to be someone's friend is to grieve with them a while.


	59. Chapter 59

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**To answer a question asked of me: Ilya was the one who survived. If you'll remember, the incident with the prostitute happened in Zagreb, which is the capital of Croatia. I've always known from the first that Ilya would survive and Sven wouldn't, which is odd for me-I'm usually as shocked as anyone when a character dies.  
**

**Also, never fear, the next chapter is Hermione and Viktor-heavy. Right now it's hard because we have to follow whoever is doing the most stuff we need to see :)  
**

Severus Snape was awake when the word came, as he often was, and he sent for the children directly. Draco and Anu Tamm had returned late the night before but half an hour later when the group assembled, they were there as well, looking exhausted but pleased.

'A full fleet and Norway as well, gentlemen. Impressive.'

Draco dipped his head. 'Thank you, Godfather. They've got him?'

'They're bringing him as we speak.'

'How did they do it so fast?'

Snape had to admit, it had been slickly done. 'One of our people made a hole in the wards for them. They slipped in, tracked the fellow and caught him as they changed back.

Krum looked grim, head down, eyes flat. 'I hope we get him before the wolves do. I'm half afraid they'll tear him limb from limb as soon as he sets down.'

Snape had had the same thought. 'Pavel knows we need him.'

'Pavel wants him most of all.'

The girl slipped her arm about his waist. 'Do you blame them? They spend all their time trying to convince people they aren't monsters and now this.'

'I sympathise, but they can't have him until we have our information.'

'Do you mean to give him to them after?'

'Hermione?'

'It would be a show of good faith to our wolves.'

Draco shook his head at once. 'I think we should make them promise to try him.'

'Try him?'

'He needs to face legal justice. Otherwise if it got out our enemies would make proverbial hay out of it.'

'Well reasoned, Draco.'

'Thank you, Godfather.'

The girl sent for Pavel and his lieutenants. All of them were on edge, vigilant, tensing at the smallest noise. Scabior was with them, speaking softly. The others were filing in as well, the air thick with what they knew themselves to bring.

'My lady' Snape said softly 'who will be interrogating this man?'

'The same as last time, Professor. If you'd like to sit in, you're welcome.'

'There's no way I could prevail upon you to allow Scabior, Black and myself to do it? Perhaps with Pavel and Arco?'

'No.' Her voice was very calm and very serene. 'What a man causes to be done, he does himself.'

'I have known you since you were eleven years old, my lady. I am afraid for you.'

She touched his arm. 'If you think I'm…slipping…then I'll give someone else a turn.'

'Your word?'

'My word.'

It would have to suffice. Snape wished he could make her go upstairs, make her see how narrow the ledge she was on was, how any tiny slip could send her careening into a chasm from which she would not emerge intact. Snape was shocked when his hand, of it's own volition, reached down and squeezed her hand, glaring fiercely as he did.

'I mean it, Hermione.'

She blinked, startled, and then, quick as a wink, hugged him. 'I promise.'

'I know.'

Then it had begun, and Snape was Snape, and the girl was Vicereine once more.

The wolves moved forward as a group when they touched the ground, and Pavel himself carefully seized the bound, bagged werewolf. 'My lord and lady, downstairs?'

'Yes, please.'

Krum called them all together and made a Silence bubble for them. 'Before you go, Pavel?'

'My lord?'

'Once we have what we need from him, your men get Matthews. There's a condition.'

'What is it?'

'Try him. We need to make it clear it was justice.'

The wolves looked at one another, nodding. 'We aren't animals.'

'No one here believes that of you. It's the rest of the world we need to worry about.'

'Don't treat him so roughly he can't talk, please. And put some clothes on him, if you wouldn't mind. It's not right for the unmarried people to see him that way.'

'As though we're all virgins' snorted the Kask girl to her. Snape's little spy-not so little, and more of a spymistress these days-patted her shoulder and said something sotto voce that made the older girl laugh out loud.

'Sirius, Mr. Lupin, perhaps you'd like to rest and eat before we get to work?'

It was midnight before they'd all eaten, slept and spent time together. Snape wouldn't have admitted it, but he was a bit pleased to see Black was keeping the wolf at arm's distance. He imagined that stupid Gyffindor ethos about not carrying a grudge would win out eventually, but surely a little knife-twisting wouldn't go amiss here?

The death room was like it had been in the winter, cold and echoing. Matthews-Matthew-lay on his side, bruises forming. He raised his head as the group entered. His face was swollen, but not so badly he couldn't talk to them.

'How is it coming, Scabior?'

'E's stubborn, milady. If e aint talk soon, mebbe we oughts t move t the next stage a mat'ers?'

'Let us try first, all right?'

Scabior gave her a single piercing look. 'Course, milady. You think e needs sum elp, though…'

'We'll let you do it.'

Scabior dropped his voice even more. 'Mebbe Mr. Tamm cud go an check on the watch fer me?'

'I think so. Anu, would you please go and check on the upstairs?'

Tamm nodded, clearly relieved. He quickly scooted out the door as the wolves moved in. One of them carefully undid the wards, binding the prisoner so he couldn't move. He stared fearlessly up at them, blinking sweat from his eyes.

'Norry?'

The elf started to cry as soon as he saw the man on the ground. 'M-Mistress?'

'He can't hurt you, Norry. Is this Matthews?'

'Yes, Mistress.'

'Do you want to leave now?'

'Y-yes, Mistress.'

'Go help Anu, all right?'

The others waited until the elf was gone before they started the interrogation. It took seven hours, but what they learnt what they needed, and then some. It was quite an interesting night.

Pavel thought so. He was deeply relieved when the kids withdrew around two, before things got serious. He was even more relieved when Tamm hadn't come back, because even before the kids had left things were ugly.

Scabior had flatly told him, some weeks earlier, that he had no intention of letting any of the young people do the wet-work. 'If it was up t me, Nicolae, they'd never see none a these cunts. Jus we records their statements and then does em in. Aint rite fer the kids t see these things. Aint gud fer em.'

Pavel tended to agree, but he could hardly say so, except to add his voice to suggesting Tamm especially be kept well away. Perhaps they could spare the youngest one seeing this side of what they did for now.

After the young people had retired, shooed out by Snape, they'd gone to work. The man was startlingly resistant to the usual inductions, but he'd finally cracked.

'Tunnels' he'd gasped. 'They're digging tunnels in the mines.'

'Tunnels? To escape?'

The prisoner laughed and spat bloody phlegm. 'No. Not escape.'

'Then what?'

'He said…said…let them be king of burnt bones and charred meat.'

Snape had actually got a bit sallower, eyes widening. 'You're telling me the werewolves are tunneling in order to somehow…somehow ignite the country to keep it from falling to us?'

The man had said nothing. He lay back down and began to laugh. Pavel leant down and thrust his boot into the fellow's ribs. That shut him the hell up. The others were closing in, a silent phalanx of rage. The Pack had been threatened. The Pack's cubs had come to harm. It had taken all of Pavel's authority to keep them from tearing the man apart then and there.

Now, as dawn was tickling the sky, Pavel smiled at the lord and lady, who'd turned out to lend their support. The others as well, so many hard young faces and knowing, watchful eyes.

During the night, elves had constructed what they needed for the trial. After a long, careful deliberation between his lieutenants and with Snape and the kids' input, Pavel had decided to try the fellow in the traditional way.

Sandru had shaken his head the idea. 'That's playing to the stereotype, Nicolae. Use the court system.'

'It would be a show trial, for one, and for another, Greyback would get wind of it. This is quicker and cleaner.'

'This is the way to prove we aren't animals?'

'The parents of those children who nearly died will be there. It will show them we still have teeth.'

'And' Costin had added 'our own people will see justice done. That's worth something.'

'I trust your judgement, Pavel.'

'I yours, Istok. Have them ready at dawn.'

So now, at dawn, Pavel clapped Eugen Arco on the shoulder and helped him into the ring. On the other side, the prisoner, who'd been fed potions to make it a fair trial, was waiting with a hungry, malicious smile. He had a good six inches and five stone on Eugen.

The ancient Patriarch shuffled forward, raised his crozier, and prayed quaveringly that the trial show the guilt or innocence of the accused, that the fight be fair and the winner righteous.

The fighters turned and bowed to the dais to acknowledge the Lord Protector and Vicereine. Then they spun and the fighting starting, a trial by combat to determine who would live and who would die.

Hawkins was bigger but Eugen was quick. He feinted, and when the bigger man stepped into the cut, Eugen slashed with his nails, snarling dangerously. Hawkins snarled back, and sunk his teeth into Eugen's arm.

Eugen cried out, slashing again, trying for an eye. He came up with his foot and kicked the other fellow squarely in the chest, following him down, tearing and gouging.

Hawkins flipped him, snapping, trying to rip out Eugen's throat. Eugen came up with his head and bone crunched, though whose bone was not apparent. Both fighters were bloodied and moving, and both of them smelt too much like fighting to smell like any particular injury.

Eugen found his feet again and danced back, clearly trying to entice the other wolf. Hawkins got to his feet, blood a ghoulish mask, and sprang. The crowd gasped, most of them never having seen such a thing. Eugen leapt as well, and they met in mid-air, a snarling, clawing ball of limbs. And teeth.

Hawkins was down. One side of his face was a ruin, mauled so thoroughly that Pavel stepped slightly ahead of the others, lest they see the mangled eye, the mouth torn away at one side to show teeth.

He made a good end, Pavel would give him that. Sobbing, blood bubbling from his mouth, he lifted his head, baring his neck. Eugen's head snapped forward at the same moment as his hand, fingers rigid, and then he stood, mouth bloody, the heart still beating in his palm. Hawkins fell without a sound, and Arco bowed once more to the dais before he set down his grizzly prize and walked toward the exit.

The crowd was quiet, buzzing like a hive on a warm afternoon. Arco moved through them and they gave way for him. There was a trail of blood behind him, and he smelt tired but well-satisfied.

'That was…direct.'

'It is the old way of doing things.'

'Arco, are you all right?'

'Fine, my lady.'

'Take the rest of today, would you? Kreacher will dose you to help you recover.'

Arco bowed and obediently went to quarters. Lemuel Scabior watched him go, shaking his head.

'Fuck me. Eugen dun a thin like this?'

'That' said Pavel solemnly 'is why Arco is my second.' And it was.

In Britain, Ron Weasley was not thinking about wet prizes, or justice, or werewolves, at least not until Snape Apparated in via elf, Sirius with him, and called them together.

He'd been having rather a good day, actually. No lessons, so he'd woken early, run about the enormous gardens for exercise (Nagini, as it turned out, was quite keen on fresh air, and had chased him for forty-five minutes, hissing as though to attack and then dropping back, tail lashing with what Ron suspected was laughter), and then, grimacing, done an hour's worth of English with Malfoy's father.

'Now, Ivan, watch your cases, please. Try 'to be' again.'

'I am, you are, he is, she is, they are.'

'Well done. Now 'to have'.'

'Again?'

'Until it is consistently correct.'

Ron had scowled a little but obediently did as he was told. Malfoy Sr ruffled his hair. 'I know it's tedious, but this is how one learns a foreign language.'

'English is my first language.'

'Was your first language. When you hurt yourself, what language do you swear in?'

'Romanian.'

'All right then. Though I was rather hoping you'd say the answer was none.'

'Not much.'

'I should hope not.'

Malfoy's father, Ron had decided, was no one to be trifled with. None of them were, and not, as he'd suspected, because they were deranged murderers who spent all their time plotting evil acts, or stealing sweets from babies.

Murderers, perhaps, but mostly the family was boringly un-deranged. The rules were the same ones Ron had grown up with, more or less, and the routine was similar, though more elaborate. They seemed to spend a good deal of time together, gardening, listening to the radio or just being a family. It was honestly almost a let-down, he mused, having seen them kick not one puppy or rob a single infant of a sweet.

One of the rules that was not the same was about the shelf of books, openly displayed in the library, third from the top in the middle. Malfoy Sr strongly implied, if not quite stated, that they were Dark, grimoires or books of proscribed spells. Ron had spent quite a bit of time considering that, and then, one rainy day, made his move.

This body was light and small, and Ron had always been athletic. He clamored easily up, and his hand was just closing on the spine of the nearest one when he felt a very large hand gently seized him, and then he was being lifted and carried to a chair, and to his horror, draped face-down across the lap of the person he still couldn't see.

Before he could protest, the very large hand came down on the seat of his trousers half a dozen times, hard. He gasped, tears coming at once despite his best efforts to stop them. His body reacted how it liked with very little input from his brain, it seemed to him, and this was one of those times.

'You obey what adults tell you. You know our rules, young man.'

'Ow! Yes! Sorry!' He hadn't been in this position since he was actually nine, and it hadn't improved any. He squirmed, hoping it was over. It wasn't; Malfoy Sr brought his hand down again, another six times.

'We do not climb on furniture. That is dangerous. Call an elf if you need help, please.'

'Yes, all vright! Ow!'

Malfoy Sr gave him a final six, real scorchers that had him sobbing hard. He hated crying, because he did it so much more in this little body than his regular adult-sized one.

'Dark magic has destroyed my family. The sole reason I have not burnt those books is that their absence would be noticed. I will not see another young person corrupted, if we need to repeat this lesson every single day until you are thirty. Is that understood?'

'Yes, sir! Sorry, ow!'

Malfoy Sr stood him up and then, vexingly, hugged him. 'All done. Shhh, shhh, you took that awfully well, didn't you? What a brave boy.'

Ron cried harder, paradoxically hurting more from the praise and gentleness. It would be easier if they were monsters, he thought, because it's hard not to feel sorry for them like this.

Somehow he ended up sitting on the man's lap, face to his shirtfront. Malfoy Sr rubbed his back and rocked him, talking very softly and kindly about things. Finally Ron raised his head. 'Sorry.'

'I know.'

'I am not vreally nine, you know.'

'I do not care if you are nine, fifteen or seventy-two, if I or any adult catches you near those books again, count on a repeat of this lesson. You are not too young-or old-for a dose of my wife's hairbrush if it comes to that.'

Ron's hand shot back to protect his vulnerable backside. 'No need.'

Malfoy Sr laughed a little. 'We'll see.'

'Vreally, I am not a kid.'

'You are not an adult, either. And I meant what I said. I rue the day I ever read any of those books.'

Ron marshaled his English. 'I think you are not vreally big for Dark magic, but more ideas.'

'This is why we have lessons each day, incidentally. I was never quite as involved as Bellatrix or Rodolphus in the mechanics of it, that's true, but I know my share.'

'It feel good to use?'

'It did. You do realise, though, that it has cost me everything?'

'Yes.'

'My son as well. Draco is the true victim. I chose this, but my son is paying for my sins. There are a good deal of them.'

'Drago miss you. Drago is all vright.'

'Draco is not well mentally-in his mind. I see that, and what can I possibly do or say? What right do I have to demand he unburden himself to me? If not for me, this wouldn't have happened.'

'Dark Lord did it. And Quirrel.'

'I helped.'

Ron shocked himself by raising up on his knees to hug the fellow's neck. 'Ve fix it now.'

'I pray every day that there is still time for that. Thank you, though.'

'Uncle? About the Longbottoms…?'

'Yes?'

'Vhat happen? I don't see how…vhat is it?' Ron couldn't find a more precise way to express himself than that.

'I could tell you, but it might be better to ask directly. I would find Rabastan and ask him privately.'

'All vright.'

So here he was, carefully knocking. Rabastan had a mania for puzzles of all sorts, especially word and number puzzles, so when Ron was bidden entry he found the man bent over a book of them, frowning down.

'Hello, there. How are you?'

'Good. Nagini vrun me this morning.'

'She wasn't trying to eat you, I hope.'

'She had a vrabbit, it was fine.'

Rabastan laughed and set down his pencil. 'Did you come to work on this puzzle with me?'

Ron liked maths, so he sat down and did his best to help. One thing about this nine-year-old brain he hated was that some concepts just didn't click anymore. He gave up and then, screwing up his courage, said boldly 'Uncle? Ask a question?'

'All right.'

'About the Longbottoms. Vhat happen?'

Rabastan took a deep breath and then another. 'That's a very complicated question, and one I'm glad you've asked. What do you know?'

'Longbottoms vere hiding. You came and hurt. Their minds broke. Then they die vhen the Dark Lord come back.'

'That's basically accurate. Did your parents tell you that?'

'Yes. They say do not ask to Neville.'

'You know the boy?'

'He is a mate. He vas a mate to Hermione too, vhen ve vere smaller.'

'Is he all right? It didn't…he's not traumatized, I hope?'

'He is shy. Scared. I never ask him.'

'Ah. I would certainly never presume to intrude by apologizing to him, but I do hope…I hope he can find some happiness and some peace in spite of what we did.'

'Is all vright to talk about, though?'

'It is always all right to ask questions. Our family avoids too much, I think.'

'Vhy you vent?'

'Because…that was a very frightening time. A good friend of mine had just died, and it seemed like everything was falling apart. The Dark Lord believed he had to kill…there was a prophecy. He had to find the child in the prophecy and kill him to save himself. And we…would it make sense to you if I said that it possible to believe something so strongly that it remarks reality for you?'

Ron frowned, trying to understand. 'Maybe a charm vould be good?'

Rabastan nodded and swished one. '*_Better?*'_

'_*Yes. thanks. You really thought…would you explain that a bit more?*'_

'*_We believed-truly, in our hearts, believed-that if we didn't help the Dark Lord, that Britain would…fall. It's hard to explain. The Dark Lord is very charismatic and extremely intelligent. He had this knack for taking things that were happening and showing us how he-and only he-could fix things so they were like they were.*'_

Ron nodded slowly. '*_You thought that his killing Harry or Neville would fix things?'_

'_Not precisely. We thought that…if you had reason to believe that a lion was coming to eat your family, and you could throw yourself in front of it, and because it ate you your family would be spared, would you do it?*' _

'_*Yes.*'_

'_*That is as closely as I can explain the general state of mind. Mine, at any rate. It seems logical, in the face of extreme danger, to make sacrifices one would ordinarily condemn.*'_

'_*So Harry and Neville were the people who got thrown to the lions?*'_

'_*Yes, that's right.*'_

'_*Then what happened?*'_

'_*Pettigrew had turned traitor, and he gave up Goderic's Hollow, where the Potter's lived, and then Swansea, where the Longbottoms were hiding. The Dark Lord decided that he would do both of them. He went first to the Potters, because he had once tried to recruit Lily and she'd defied him.*'_

'_*Why would he try to recruit a muggleborn?*'_

'_*That's a complex question. Would it be all right if I answered that later?*'_

'_*Sure. Sorry about that.*'_

'_*Not at all. We were there when he left, my brother and Bellatrix and Barty and I. When he hadn't returned in twelve hours, we sent someone. The Potters were dead, the Dark Lord was gone and the baby was nowhere to be found. We assumed…please understand, I do not mean to make excuses for what we did. We had a choice and we made a terrible one.*'_

'_*I understand.*'_

'_*We thought perhaps he was testing our loyalty. He does that. It does not…it would be outside a Death Eater's interests to be seen to be insufficiently diligent in searching. We thought he wanted us to go and…make the other sacrifice.*'_

'_*Kill Neville.*'_

'_*Yes. So we waited until dark and then we went to Swansea. The Longbottoms's house was like Pettigrew said, a little cottage about two kilometres out of town, in a grove of oaks. We used Pettigrew's password to disable the wards. They were inside. We found out later they'd Petrified the baby and slid him under the bed. The woman met us on the stairs. She offered herself if we'd let her husband go. We…didn't.*'_

'_*But why did you…how could you do that?*'_

'_*I wish I had an answer for that.*'_

'_*Afterwards, did you…how did you…?*'_

'_*We heard someone coming in. It was a friend of theirs, an auror. Vance, I think, Emma…Emma Vance? Emily Vance? Something. We Apparated back to Lestrange House. Barty was crying. He was the first of us to realise what we had done.*'_

'_*Why didn't you kill them?*'_

'_*We would have done.*'_

Ron felt sick. _'*I mean, why not just kill them once you knew they didn't have what you wanted?*'_

'_*Because…suppose it was a test, after all? Suppose they did know, and he found out we hadn't done every possible thing to get answers? My parents were still alive, and Linnaea Crouch, and Druella Black-Bellatrix's mother. He might have made an example. And then it was too late to stop even if we'd wanted to.*'_

Rabastan abruptly lifted him and set him in his lap. Ron suspected he was not the one being comforted, but he leant back anyhow, closing his eyes a moment, trying to square the soft-spoken, puzzle-loving man holding him so gently with the man who'd tortured Neville's parents into insanity.

'_*Were you scared of him?*'_

'_*I still am.*'_

'_*But you followed him.*'_

'_*I did.*'_

'_*Why?*'_

Rabastan started to pat his back a little. _'*I thought he could make Britain great again.*'_

'_*Great how?*'_

'*_Feared and honored. I'm not really sure, myself. Father was one of his best friends, as well, and I grew up believing that he-the Dark Lord, not my father-was some kind of saviour, like Merlin born again.*'_

'_*Do your parents know?*'_

'_*They've passed away, but their portraits don't. My father was a man of strong convictions.*'_

'_*You think he would betray you?*'_

'_*No. I think he would accost whichever Death Eater he saw first and demand to know how they could be a part of this.*'_

'_*Like Alecto?*'_

'_*Like Alecto. She hasn't done anything but pinch and shove?*'_

'_*No.*'_

'_*You're sure.*'_

'_*Yes.*'_

Rabastan nodded, patting his back a bit more. _'*All right, then.*'_

Ron found the patting very soothing, and the light rain outside was a comforting white noise. He was nearly asleep when an elf announced Snape and Sirius. Rabastan scooped him up and toted him casually down to the Blue room.

'There's something of a wrinkle here.'

'He means to blow up the whole bloody island, wrinkle my ar-leg!'

'Thank you, dog, for ruining any sense of dramatic timing.' Snape explained what had happened with the werewolf and what he had told them. Ron sat on the ottoman and shook his head in disbelief.

'He means to just torch it all?'

'Evidentally, Bellatrix.'

'There are twenty-nine million muggles here.' That was Eugenia Lestrange, who was getting very pink about the cheeks.

'Yes, he's always been so concerned with the welfare of muggles.'

'This is an atrocity.'

'I quite agree. What shall we do?'

Malfoy Sr cleared his throat. 'Is there no word from the ghosts at Hogwarts as to the other…objects?'

'None, and we may as well tell him. The Dark Lord has created a series of Horcruxes we're trying to find in order to destroy them. And no, no word.'

'Well then' said Feathering's wife firmly 'we shall just have to look harder.'

'What do you suggest, madam?'

'Nagini and I can look.'

'How would we explain your increased presence at the school?'

'Halfblood' said the Lestranges's terrifying aunt 'my health is not good. I could decline at any time. Surely it would be unsuitable to have Hetty and the boy about if I was ill?'

'It certainly would, madam.'

Ron stood up. 'I have idea as vell.'

'My lord Borev?'

'Twins have, ah, direction paper? With lines?'

'A map?'

'Yes! Map of school. We could use.'

'A map is all well and good, certainly, but we know the layout of Hogwarts.'

'No, special map. Moving dots is people.'

Sirius bent down and touched his shoulder. 'Kiddo, have the twins got the Maurauder's Map?'

'Yes, that's it!'

Sirius laughed out loud. 'Send Kreacher for it, Snape. This will help us find a way.'

'What are you on about, dog?'

Sirius sat down and explained everything. Even Snape was impressed. A bit.


	60. Chapter 60

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**I'm going back to university full time at the end of August, so things might slow down a bit. But I'm very excited and pleased to be starting a new chapter. Any good thoughts, prayers, vibrations, etc would be most welcome.  
**

Viktor scowled and tugged the blankets higher. 'You're sure about this?'

'Luan's checked them. He says they're the right ones.'

'It still strikes me as ill-advised.'

She rolled over and pressed her head to his chest. 'You're grouchy because your shoulder hurts.'

'I'm not.'

'Are.'

'Not.'

'Are are are.'

'Not times a million.' He kissed the top of her head and drew her closer. He could feel her magical energy pulsing under her skin, against his own. It burnt, but it was a good burn, a burn that scoured a person clean and left them new-made, a kind of baptism in fire (he crossed himself at this last one, worried he might have blasphemed without meaning to).

'How else, then?'

'There must be a way.'

'Who is stronger than I am, Viktor?' She said it with no pride at all, just a sort of weary pragmatism. He touched her back and felt the beating of her heart like a mouse's, that quickly under the tips of his fingers.

'I don't like it. How do we know Grindelwald isn't leading us astray on purpose?'

'What good would it do him? We're his entertainment. If he breaks his toys, he can't play with them anymore.'

'He's slippery, that one.'

'And cruel. But he's our best hope for right now.'

Viktor nodded reluctantly. 'I worry, is all.'

'I do too.'

'It's hard to resist you. Your energy is so strong.'

She pursed her lips. 'I know. It sort of throbs, doesn't it?'

He nodded, hand sliding down before he stopped it. She looked at him, eyes bright, and then her own hand started to move. He caught it, kissed the knuckles.

'It's dangerous.'

'Yes.'

'We can't have a baby right now.'

'I'm making sure we don't.'

Viktor had suspected as much, but hadn't asked. The church forbid such things, but he expected if she never volunteered and he never explicitly asked her, then there could be no sin. Which was probably quite sophistic, but he found he could make peace with that if the issue was Hermione's health and the dangers a baby would pose them all.

'The magic could overcome it.'

'Like it did for my own parents?'

'Yes.' He wouldn't lie to her, even now. He touched her belly gently, contemplating the day she could throw her stock of potions out and they could have a child, or three, or five, a fine strong family with children running about, running to him and running to her and chasing goats and playing with Bess, who, as if sensing she was being thought about, put up her head and chuffed and then put it down again, snorting until she slept.

'She had done more than I. Mother had. It didn't stop it.'

'I know.'

He kissed her forehead gently, wanting to give in, wanting to fall with her. Images flashed through his mind, vivid-bright as fever dreams, and he shook them off, knowing the magic was causing it, caressing him with her enormous power, like being trapped in a rainstorm, a wild force of nature that could kill or heal at will.

Hermione herself was quiet for a long time. After a few minutes she spoke. 'When I was younger, I was scared she didn't like me very much. Mother. I took her away from the Dark Lord too much.'

'You really thought that?'

'The adults wouldn't tell me very much, but I understood that they loved the Dark Lord more than me. Mum always said she knew from the first she was going to have me. I thought that since Mother hadn't, she didn't really want me.'

He stroked her hair, knowing this was a lead-up to something. 'I wish she was here right now. Mother. She could help us sort this out.'

'Mine, too.'

'Your mother knew Dark magic?'

'No, I just wish she was here. She had a lot of common sense. And she liked you.'

'I liked her too. Are you all right?' She cupped his cheek, squinting at him critically. He smiled, thinking about her mother and her strange, endearing faces, and nodded English-style.

'I am. I miss her, that's all.'

Hermione sighed again. 'I know what that feels like.'

'Yes, you do.'

He held her closer and breathed the good smell of her hair and her skin. I have been in love with you since we were children, he wanted to tell her. When your hand touched mine it was like lightening had struck me.

'So you want to go?'

'I do. You don't?'

'I'll go with you, but I…I don't want to watch you die, Hermione.'

'I won't die.'

'You could. If even a single sigil is wrong, or a spell isn't said precisely the right way, you'll die. And we don't even know whether the magic is actually going to work.'

'How else will we be sure of the dragons, though?'

He hissed air through closed teeth. 'I'd give almost anything to know that. I would.'

'You'll be there. Your magic is strong, Viktor. You can help me.'

'Once the ritual is started, I can't. Once you step into that circle you're on your own.'

'I know. If something does happen…'

'Don't. Don't even say it.'

'You'll need to remarry as quickly as possible.'

'Hermione!'

'You will. A Frenchwoman, maybe, or a Russian. A Norwegian or Swede would be all right, too.'

'I refuse to have this conversation.'

'Why?'

'Because…because…I just don't want to.'

'It isn't like you to avoid things.'

'It isn't like you to torment me this way.'

She huffed and raised her head. 'We're heads of state now. We don't get to just hope for the best and not make plans.'

'I know. I can't stand the thought of it, is all. What about you?'

'Me?'

'If I die, will you remarry?'

Hermione was getting pink about the cheeks, which meant she was going to try to lie. 'I, er, no. My power is der-'

'You're Vicereine in your own right. It won't effect you at all should you marry again.'

'It would create problems.'

'For whom?'

'Me.'

'How?'

'I wouldn't want to remarry.'

'And I would?'

'I don't want you to be alone.'

'We're fifteen and seventeen, Hermione. We would both need to remarry if something happened to the other person. You started this, remember?'

She squinted more sharply, mouth curling grumpily, and he realized, amused, that his wife was pouting. It was adorable, and he wished he had a camera in order to capture the moment. He would get hexed senseless, but still.

'It wasn't about me when it started.'

'It's about you now.'

'I don't like this.'

He laughed out loud. 'Tuck that lip in, Hermione, before someone trips over it.'

'Hmmph. You're sleeping with the wolves tonight.'

'I'm not. We do need to discuss this.'

'You didn't want to.'

'You convinced me.'

'I'm going to curse you.'

'I know.' He nuzzled her neck and she pouted another few moments before she softened and rested against him once more.

'What do you want to discuss?'

'If something does happen to me, you ought to remarry as well, to a Bulgarian. It would be better if I had a brother or a male cousin, or there was a convenient Borev about, but there isn't. What do you think?'

She shook her head as though to negate the whole notion. 'I don't know. An ally of ours, maybe a Paisi. It's a shame Toma's brother died.'

'It is. A Dinev cousin might work.'

'All right. What about you?'

'A Frenchwoman, probably, to cement Morreau to us further. Or a Romanian, Vulpes has daughters about the right age.'

'It's settled then?'

'No. You aren't going to die and nor am I. We're going to rule together and have children and take holidays to the rose valley.'

She nodded at once. 'It's terrible to think about, isn't it?'

'It certainly is. I worry every day that I'll lose you.'

'Don't.'

'I do.'

'We have today.'

Viktor rubbed her back, feeling her breath under his hand, and that quick little mouse-heart. He'd rather blind himself than marry another woman, no matter who it was or why he had to. He had loved Hermione since he was fourteen and he couldn't imagine feeling this way about another woman, politics be damned. That pig farm, he mused, sounds good right now. Just she and I, and our pigs, and a little house, and a swarm of bees and some goats. Bess to protect us and keep us company. Drago and Vaike to visit, sometimes, and quiet, and peace.

'Should I tell the elves to have us ready to leave tomorrow at this time?'

'That sounds good.'

'It will be fine, Viktor, I promise.'

Her magic, which had been dormant since they'd just been talking, began to pulse again. His own answered it, making his skin tingle, making his eyelids ache, his toes curl, his body react.

He reached to touch her and she let him, sighing, murmuring. It was dangerous to yield like this, dangerous to let this sweet strong thing in, because once the door was open how could it be closed again?

The magic crested stronger than ever, but he let himself fall. It was too sweet, and too strong, and too much present with them, too much a living thing, to resist. It was sweet, sweet and maybe poisoned, but he didn't think about that, didn't think at all.

He forgot himself in this thing that they made together, this time when they could be only themselves, the place no politics could come and no concerns could destroy. He let himself forget that tomorrow they'd go to Romania with Luan Ismaili and Grindelwald's pile of handwritten notes, to either work dragon magic or die trying. He could forgot that now, before the day was begun, and be a man with his wife, and happy for a few shining moments, like a glimpse of the summer sun to a man in a prison.

Sirius Black wasn't in prison, and for that he was grateful. He was sitting with that arse Snape, both of them sipping coffee, and both of them, in their own way, content. Even Kreacher seemed to be in high humour, as much Kreacher was ever in high anything.

'So the giants will support us?'

'I daresay. Your cousin thinks so.'

'Rab is a good bloke. I could never understand why he wanted to be a Death Eater.'

'Rodolphus told him to.'

'True enough. He didn't come back squashed, so we know the giants at least liked him.'

'Karkus was incensed when he found out about Edric. The problem is going to be what will happen if the Dark Lord sends emissaries to him as well. Karkus will squash first and ask questions later.'

'Like the Dark Lord himself, really.'

'Honestly, Black, try harder.'

'It's hardly my fault you haven't got a sense of humour.'

'It's hardly mine you can't tell a joke.'

'I can if the audience isn't a twat.'

'Name-calling, Black? How mature.'

'Like you don't do it.'

'_Tu quoque_?'

Sirius glowered, concealing his amusement at their banter. Snape was a cunt, but a funny one. Snape himself looked dignified and continued to calmly sip coffee. Sirius set down his cup and stretched.

'Well, I'm off.'

'Your nut, perhaps.'

'Har har, Snape.'

'Where are you going at such an ungodly hour, anyway?'

Sirius tried for casual. 'Visit someone.'

'Oh. How interesting. Has Black recovered from his heart-break?'

'Grotty wanker.'

'Whinging arse. Is she a whore?'

'You don't know it's a woman, Snape.'

'I've always thought Galca looks like a cuddler. Is he?'

'Shut up.'

'That isn't a no.'

'It is a woman.'

'Hmm… not Lyudmilla, I should hope?'

'Of course not!'

'Miss Kask is too young, the girl is your cousin and married… lady Batcheva?'

'If you must know, you manky berk, it's Madam Tamm.'

Snape set down his cup. 'What?'

'It's not like that! I'm just teaching her self-defense.'

'That poor woman has been through enough to last five lifetimes, and now you inflict yourself on her? Shame on you, harassing her.'

'She likes me back! As a friend. Or a teacher. Something.'

'This is low, even for you.'

Sirius stiffened. 'I have no dishonorable designs for Madam Tamm, Snape.'

'I should hope not.'

'I was fine with Eugenia! I was great with Eugenia! Rab caught us fucking and was **thrilled**!'

'Vance is not Sose Tamm and you know it.'

'I do know it.' Something occurred to Sirius and he sat back down. 'Did you mean to pursue her, then?'

'Funny, Black.'

'I'm not joking. If you do, then I shan't hinder you.'

'Because women love me, you great idiot.'

'Because I want you to be happy, you stubborn ass.'

Snape drew his lips back in a strange expression that was half a sneer and half a laugh. 'Happy, Black?'

'Yes, happy. It isn't healthy, this creepy brooding thing you do. Get a hobby or something. Or an actual dog. Maybe a girlfriend someday. But don't just sit about thinking about all the terrible things that have happened.'

'Why not?'

'Because it's goddamned creepy, didn't you hear what I said?'

'That is fine with me.'

'The hell kind of example are you setting, Snape? What will the kids think?'

'I don't know, Black. It's never seemed to faze them.'

'It might later. They look up to you. They want to emulate you.'

'Are you drunk or just stupider than normal this early in the morning?'

'Fuck you. My point is, perhaps try living a little.'

'And what would you suggest, Black? A switch from tea to cocoa?'

'You could always get ambitious and try shampoo. It's freely available these days. I'll even buy you your first bottle.'

'Get out, you lecherous bastard.'

'Do you like the kind that smells of pine, or the kind that smells of lavender?'

'I hate you.'

Sirius dodged a hex, laughing, and went to see Sose.

He found Anu, who was watering the goats, with Goose sniffing his shoes worriedly. Goose raised his head and barked, disliking the multiple scents on his Boy's clothing. Why had his Boy left him home? Goose could have helped him somehow.

'Indeed' agreed Sirius, patting the dog's haunch lightly. 'No one's ever doubted your good intentions, fellow, just your good sense.'

Anu laughed. 'Did I miss something?'

'Goose wants to go next time.'

'I'll ask. Does he like ships?'

'I shouldn't think so. He's really very much a ground sort of dog.' Goose chuffed agreement and rolled for a tummy scratch, yawning. Sirius obliged and then, watching the goats carefully, helped Anu water them.

'The nanny kidded, I see.'

'She did. Twins.'

'That's good.'

'Sirius?'

'Kiddo?'

'Do you like my mother?'

'Everybody likes your mother.'

'No, I mean, like my mother.'

'She's a very brave lady. I like people like that.'

'So you do like her?'

'Would it be an issue for you if I did?'

'No. Are you going to marry her?'

'Let's not put the cart before the hippogyff here, all right?'

'Is it because I'm a bastard?'

'It's because I'm a bit wand-shy.'

'Why?'

'Your mother hasn't had very good experiences with men, kiddo. I don't want to make her feel…'

'Skittish?'

'Precisely.'

'She likes you too, I think.'

'That's good.'

'Are you going to hurt her?'

'No.'

'Do you swear?'

Sirius was a little startled to see that Anu's hand was on his wand, and he smothered a grin. The kid had nerve, no doubt about that, but he weighed less than Goose and came up to Sirius's chin.

'I do swear.'

'All right.'

'Draco teach you that?'

'Mmm hmm.'

'How was Scandinavia?'

Anu sat down on the closest bench, Goose loyally (if dimly, because he promptly ran into that same bench) followed, tail wagging. 'It was complicated. Do you remember Lofstrom and Arbanas?'

'Those boys who tried to attack Hermione?'

'Yes. Lofstrom is dying. We had to go see him.'

Sirius sat and listened. 'That sounds horrible, kiddo.'

'Mr. Lofstrom cried. He hugged me and he cried before we left. Hugged Drago, too. It was strange.'

'Sounds it.'

'It was sort of all right, though. Helping them. Felt sorry for them.'

Sirius clapped his shoulder. 'You did that before, didn't you?'

'It was my war this time. Not fighting but cleaning up.'

Sirius slid his hand down to rub the kid's back. Anu was working it out, was all. He'd taken Draco into the garden after the Dementor attack for the same reason, except that Anu wasn't a shouter and a thrower, like his cousin. He just wanted to talk through it.

'Not next time.'

'No?'

'The Swedes are giving us ships. I get to go to Varna and learn about them.'

'Do you?' On one hand, Sirius supposed that a ship was the safest realistic place for the kid to be, but he really didn't want him in the combat zone at all.

'Is Bulgaria going to build it's own?'

'The Swedes are going to help us with that, too. We're going to have a navy, and someday I'll get to run it.'

Sirius nodded. 'Viktor said?'

'He did. He says it's a big responsibility.'

'It is that. You must feel pretty damned proud.'

Anu suddenly grinned. 'Not too bad for the shepherdess's bastard, is it, Sirius?'

'Not bad for anyone. Do you get a strange hat, and medals?'

'I'll just stick a pin in my school hat.'

'There's a plan.'

'Sirius?'

'Kid?'

'Marry Nene. I'm worried about what will happen to her if I die.'

'You won't die, and she'll always have a place here.'

'She needs another son, though, to make sure she'll be cared for.'

'Kiddo, you're thirteen. You're going to be fine.'

'Lofstrom's eighteen and he's dying.'

'I know that, but don't give me more grey hairs than I have, would you?'

'It's fun.'

'I'll set Goose on you.'

'Good luck. He'd get confused and start trying to attack himself again.'

'Again?'

'He snapped at himself in the mirror the other day. Had to put him outside.' Anu fondly scratched the dog's ears, and Goose chuffed again in merry, confused agreement.

'I thought you wanted Snape to marry your mother?'

'I'd like that too, but he says he can't.'

'Snape was hurt when he was young, and he's never quite got over it.'

Anu sighed softly. 'That's a lot of people.'

'It is. Has Draco spoken to you lately about what happened at the party?'

'He had a flashback, was all. I had one in Sweden.'

'Did you?'

'Mmm hmm.'

'That happen often?'

'No. You?'

'From time to time, but mainly in proximity-nearness- to Dementors.'

'Nightmares?'

'From time to time. You don't have any?'

'No. Not about that. I have one that I'm at school in my smalls sometimes.'

'Really?'

'Yes.'

Sirius snorted laughter and cuffed Anu's shoulder gently. 'Maybe tell the mind-healer that one, kiddo.'

'When we get back, I will.'

'Get back from where?'

'Romania.'

Sirius felt more grey hairs starting, put his arm round the kid's scrawny little shoulders and hugged him hard. 'Be careful, Anu.'

'I will. Marry my mother.'

'Don't make me set Kreacher on you.'

They both laughed and went to find Sose together. It was nice. It was sort of like normal life, almost. Sirius found that he didn't mind that much at all.


	61. Chapter 61

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**This might be my favourite chapter in this part, y'all. I hope everyone is satisfied, because we get a lot of characters we haven't seen as much lately. :)  
**

Arthur Weasley hoped that this was going to work, because he had all sort of horrible visions of explaining to Bellatrix Lestrange that he'd stood idly by as her daughter was roasted by a dragon.

Charlie waved him over. '_Almost ready, Dad.'_

Arthur nodded, palms wet. '_All right, Charlie.'_

Ismaili, bless him, was at least thorough. He had given them a precise list of specifications, and they'd filled it to the letter. The hour was growing near, the shadows receding, the tension palpable as Snape carved the final rune on the ground with the obsidian blade.

'_Everything in order, Snape?'_

'_I believe so.' _

The man's head didn't turn as he dug the final character and then rose. He was sallow, eyes like pits. He licked his upper lip once, lizard-like. He looks, thought Arthur incredulously, nervous. He's **nervous** for the girl's sake.

Finally the moment was upon them. Hermione looked very small and very pretty, hair down, all in white. She kissed her husband quickly and stepped into the circle, head high. She started to chant softly, eyes bright, and then, as the sun crested over the moments, they began to come.

Dragons. Fire made flesh, flame given flight, all sorts and hues, all the kinds of dragons of Creation stepping from the trees, smoke curling from their nostrils. The heat was palpable as well, rising to hold them in itself. The cleaning, once cool, felt like a closed green-house on a hot day.

The girl kept chanting. Her face never changed, her gaze never wavered. She breathed somehow, without breaking the chant for even a moment. A female came forward, a Ukrainian Ironbelly, hide milky with scars. Her wings flapped, nearly knocking the humans off their feet. She lowered her head and stared.

Hermione's chant ended. The silence was spun glass, fragile and oddly beautiful as the two females regarded one another, neither of them afraid. Showing fear would be death.

The Ironbelly roared, a sound that tickled the back of Arthur's skull, woke his lizard-brain. Hermione curtsied, head down, knees bending gracefully. It was begun. She had the attention of the queen female, and now it was began at last.

Hermione turned slowly, keeping eye contact as long as she could. The flat plain had been chosen for just this purpose, so she could do this next thing and not kill them all. Ideally, he mused, and sent up a prayer to his beloved Dad to guide her spells true, and to his Gran Mary to help the girl herself. Gran had always loved children, and surely she'd be happy to help this one a bit, whoever her parents were.

He wasn't prepared for the surge of it, her power. Beside him, Molly sucked in air through her teeth, groaning softly, muscles contracting as she rose on the balls of her feet and then sank back.

There was a gust of wind, cold and strong, and then the flames bloomed from her wand and arched across the expanse of space, roaring, driving the wind away. The girl swished her wrist and the flames followed effortlessly, spinning and moving as she controlled them, face blank, showing no strain at all. His teeth ached with it, his eyes felt too large for his skull, his body freezing and boiling at once. Arthur wasn't sure whether he was afraid or exhilarated, but the purity of whatever it was nearly drove him to his knees in abject…something.

Finally it was over and she turned back to the dragon. The female stared at her, wings beating slowly as though in contemplation. She opened her mouth and then fire was streaming out, fire was everywhere, green as emeralds, eerily radiant, and the girl was bathed in it, the girl was deluged in it, he could see none of her at all.

The next thing was felt more than seen, as a burst of raw magic opened somehow, opened so hard and so quickly that beside him Molly turned white and nearly swooned. Arthur's knees went loose and he tumbled down, not sure what had just happened, wondering if he'd sensed her death, a final blaze of power as the spark faded from her burnt and ruined body.

For the rest of his life, Arthur would be able to recall what he saw on raising his head with a hard pitiless clarity that was a curse and blessing, that effected very few of his other memories, and mostly the bad ones at that. He would never be quite sure what this one was, only that it was stamped in him like a seal in a puddle of hot wax, stamped in the eye of his mind.

The flames died slowly, lingering in the air like green butterflies, or like shades at dawn. Within them the girl was untouched, clothes burnt away, hair crisped, but skin untouched, the Protego she had cast about herself only fading once every flame had died. The men averted their eyes from her, gladly, because her power was still swirling about her and to look would be to see something too strong and too frightening to be borne, to see how terrible she really was, dangerous and terrible and beautiful for it.

Arthur stood, checking his wife at once. Molly was very pale but she seemed unafraid. He took her hand and she laced her fingers with his and squeezed tightly. No one could speak until it was over, but whether it was over he couldn't say, or bring himself, still, to look at the girl.

The dragons were beating their wings softly. Finally the Ironbelly bowed, and the girl bowed back, body shimmering a little in the brightening sunlight. Girl and dragon, predators, they locked eyes. The girl extended a hand to them, her wand hand and the dragon dipped her head. She was acquiescing.

Hermione kept eye-contact and began to chant again. Arthur didn't know the language but it felt ancient, deep and perhaps dark but not Dark at all, not malevolent. It wove something between then in the air, something like chains of fire and magic, chains forged when two powerful creatures united as equals. When it was over, both bowed again. The Ironbelly rose in the air with a few short flaps and hovered, her kin following her, until one might think they'd never been there at all until the shadows loomed above like harbingers of doom, which they were.

On his other side, Dorina Vulpes finally said, very softly. 'It's done.'

Arthur raised his eyes. Snape had given the girl his outer robes, and she wrapped them about herself, looking like a child in a dressing gown.

Her husband had come to her, and they embraced. Tears were running down his cheeks and he was cupping her chin, speaking urgently to her, stroking her cheeks with his big, coarse-seeming hands. She collapsed against him and then rose, laughing. They had done it.

Above them, the Ironbelly circled back. She raised her head and made a high wavering cry. The others joined her. Arthur Weasley stood under the lightening sky, skin prickling with goose pimples, and listened as, for the first time in three hundred years, the skies came alive with the war-music of dragons.

Hermione herself hardly heard it, though later she did remember, a bit, the high sweet sound of it above them. She stood in the rising sun and just was, her magic churning inside her, the wind cool on her body below the Professor's robes. She vaguely felt Viktor tugging it closer about her, and then Kreacher was there with her nightdress and wrapper. She cast a privacy spell and stepped from the robes, her body tingling and aching. She didn't want to put on clothing, however comfortable it was; she wanted to stand here forever, soaking up the sense of things, the bigness of what had happened.

Viktor was touching her. He'd stepped inside her ward and was pulling her nightdress on her, gently working the sleeves over her arms like she was a child. '_Hermione?'_

'_Viktor?'_

'_Vhat vas that?'_

She shook her head helplessly. _'We…she and I…'_

The fire, she thought. Her magic had wrapped about her like a cocoon, before she'd so much as raised her wand. It had just happened, and then the fire had come all round her, holding her, embracing her.

It roared like an animal, like she was in the belly of some huge green beast, the heat of it disintegrating her clothing as though it were paper. She hadn't noticed or cared; had thrown back her head and breathed the heat, feeling it enter her, purifying her, her sins melting under the heat, as though she would rise, phoenix-like from this, a new creature.

'_I was not afraid.' _

'_I vas!'_

'_Don't be. It's all right.' _

She smiled, leaning against him for comfort. He felt very solid to her, familiar and good. Her love for him filled her like the dragon-fire had, vital and laced with magic.

'_You need to lie down now, all vright?' _

'_We need to speak to the Minister, don't we?'_

'_Drago and I vill. Please, Hermione?'_

As they passed the people, Hermione found she could feel their eyes on her, which was fine. 'The Unburnt' someone whispered, and it rippled through the crowd like a sickness, until they were out of sight.

Their tent was dark and cool, and so was their bed. Hermione laid down, hardly feeling the mattress or the bedding under her, and then pulled him on top of her, trying to undo the buttons of his fly as she did.

Viktor raised on his elbows, shaking his head no. _'Ve can't.' _He took her hand and guided it away from him, stroking with his thumb as he did it.

'_I can show you.'_

'_Show me?'_

'_It was…it was so big, Viktor. We touched…it was…her magic was so…I can show you.'_

Viktor gently rolled off. _'That is not a good idea.'_

'_It's not Dark. It's not.'_

'_Go to sleep.'_

'_I'm not a child_.'

'_You are not yourself, either. No, shhh, lie down.'_

She tried to sit up and was startled when he pushed her back down lightly. '_I don't want to.'_

'_Just for a moment.'_

'_No, I said.'_

'_Shhh. Shhh.'_

Frustrated, she finally threw her arms about him, closed her eyes and concentrated. She felt him stiffen, back arching, and then he lay down on top of her, muscles trembling a little. She could feel that he wanted to, and feel that he didn't. He tried to speak and pressed his face to her neck, breathing hard. 'Oh oh oh' he breathed in her ear, tickling her. She nodded, her chest aching with the memory of it, eyes closing and then opening again.

'_That vas…my God, Hermione. My God.'_

'_I know.'_

'_I vant this so much. But ve can't.'_

'_I know.'_

She sniffled, eyes tearing with the inability to share this with the person she most loved. Viktor lowered his head and nuzzled her neck, murmuring comfort and affection.

Her head came up and she kissed him, hard, and it was like fire of a different sort, none of the usual fumbling, innocent intimacy, but something harder and more basic, the two of them wrapped in the tidal swell of magic at its most primal, life energy raw and shimmering.

When Hermione came back to herself, her nightgown was torn. Her muscles ached, and her head was ringing as though she'd had too much wine. Beside her, Viktor was similarly dazed.

'_Viktor?' _Her voice sounded very little to her, like a child's. She was abruptly aware of being fifteen and not large, being vulnerable. The otherworldliness of the thing had faded.

'_Are you angry with me?'_

Viktor reached for her and touched her face. _'No, love. I vas as guilty as yourself.'_

'_It wasn't…it wasn't, though.'_

'_I know. Don't cry, please?'_

She was. The magic was going and she felt empty now. It hurt to be empty like this, as though someone had cut some of her away and taken it from her forever. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she raised her hands to her face to weep into them.

Viktor sat up and slipped his hands gently under her arms, pulling her into lap. His arms went round her and they rocked as she sobbed aloud, sobbed like she'd lost a loved one. She'd cried like this when Rinky died, she recalled painfully, and buried her face in his neck, bawling without restraint.

It was a hard squall but a quick one, and when it was done she laid against him, clinging to him. He held her tightly, humming the song about Petrucka. She breathed. He smelt like soap and skin and what they'd done.

'_Vulpes is waiting.'_

'_Drago is scaring her for us.'_

'_You really aren't angry?'_

'_Not a bit.'_

'_I need to take-' _He pressed a finger to her lips.

'_Don't finish or I have to go to confession.'_

She giggled hoarsely, snuggling tighter. _'I'd like hearing you explain that one to the priest.'_

'_The priest is over a hundred, he is hard to shock.'_

'_He'd scold you.'_

'_He vould. No pudding for a month.'_

'_And no…'_

'_That vould hardly be to my spiritual benefit.'_

She laughed again, more strongly. '_Who said that?'_

'_Err, a monk, I believe.'_

'_Which monk?'_

'_Ivan the…Understanding of… someplace.'_

'_Viktor!'_

'_Yes?'_

'_You ought to have to do penance just for that. That was dreadful.'_

'_You smiled.'_

'_I did.'_

She wriggled free. _'Really, though, it's important.'_

'_It is. I don't know if…it vas not Dark, you are vright, but it might be…'_

'_Too much?'_

'_Yes, precisely.'_

Hermione, a bit embarrassed, called Kreacher. He brought her phial, and then a big tub of hot water, soap and towels. They stripped off their ripped clothing and got in. The water was scalding. Hermione sighed with pleasure. It felt good, easing her aches.

'_Vas I too rough?'_

'_It was nice.'_

'_Vreally?'_

'_Mmm hmmm.'_

'_You're sure?'_

'_Positive.'_

She closed her eyes and sighed again as Kreacher started to wash her hair. The elf made a distressed noise and Hermione opened one eye.

'_Kreacher?'_

'_Mistress, your hair is singed.'_

'_We'll need to cut it. You don't mind, Viktor, do you?'_

'_It is your hair.'_

'_It's terrible short. I look like a puff skein.'_

'_I think it vill be adorable.'_

'_I'll look like Sirius.'_

'_Your moustache von't be nearly as thick, I'm sure.' _

In point of fact, Sirius had indeed latterly cultivated a rakish moustache. Hermione thought it looked a bit like a stage villain's, but she suspected it was for something spy-related, and anyway, if he felt good that was enough for her.

'_We can hope.'_

Kreacher fetched the shears and trimmed the end. Hermione watched as clumps fell into the water, trying not to mind as it got rather shorter than she'd anticipated, and then some.

Viktor was trying not to smile. '_It is very…Sirius and Mother look alike in the face.'_

'_I'm going to hex you.'_

'_It'll grow.'_

'_Several times.'_

'_At least it's not poison threats.'_

'_Yet.'_

'_True.'_

Kreacher evened the ends and smiled rhumily. '_Very nice, Mistress. Kreacher remembers this style. Very popular in 1820.'_

'_How comforting, Kreacher.' _Seeing his face fall, she reached for his hand at once. _'I'm sorry, that wasn't thoughtful of me. What I meant to say was, I'm glad you like it. I just don't care for short hair, is all.'_

The elf smoothed it gently. '_Kreacher will dress Mistress's scarf over it and it will be fine.'_

'_I know.'_

The flap flew inward and Draco bounded half-way in before he realized what he was seeing. '_Oh, God, sorry!'_

'_Give us five minutes, Draco.'_

Kreacher used his magic to get them both dressed, and when Draco came back, crimson and looking down, they were sitting in chairs as sedately as if they'd been at conversation.

'_Sorry. I, err, wanted to tell you that…'_

'_Drago, it is fine. Ve vere bathing, that's all.'_

'_Still.'_

'_Sit down.'_

Draco was still scarlet. _'My sweet little cousin, yet!'_

'_We're the same age.'_

'_I'm three weeks older. I remember you when you were just a wisp of a thing.'_

'_So were you!'_

'_And?'_

That broke the tension and then it was all business. '_I wish you could have seen Luan. He's dancing.'_

'_What?'_

'_Yes. He actually danced round the safe zone. And cried.'_

They all snorted at the mental image of humourless Luan Ismaili dancing and weeping for joy that his research had paid off.

'_And the others?'_

'_I think we've traumatized the English. Weasley Sr can't stop shaking his head and the woman's freckles look like sultanas in a quaking pudding. None of them could even eat lunch.'_

'_Lunch? Drago, vhat time is it?'_

'_Quarter til two.'_

'_Vhat?'_

'_We thought you'd fallen asleep.'_

Hermione swallowed hard. _'I expect we did. Draco?'_

'_Hermione? Are you sick?'_

She shook her head. '_Would you send the Professor in when you go, please?'_

Draco nodded, brows contracting. _'Go lie down, please. I'll get him at once.'_

She did, stomach churning. She brushed her hand against her navel and was deeply, deeply afraid.

Severus Snape was almost in the tent as soon as he saw his godson, white as a ghost, coming toward him. _'Hermione needs you, Godfather.' _

'_Is she bleeding, Draco?'_

'_I don't think so. But she's not…not…'_

Snape paused very quickly to clap his godson's shoulder. '_See to Anu, please. He's practicing his spell-work.'_

Draco jogged off, and Snape went as rapidly the other way. The girl was lying in the bed, all big eyes, boy beside her. They looked afraid, like children lost in the woods together. How young they are, Snape thought, faintly sick, and pressed forward.

'_What's happened?'_

The girl went red. She sat up, hand still to her belly, and told him what had happened. _'It wasn't... this has never happened before.'_

Snape called for a stool and sat on it. '_I should expect not. You aren't hurt?'_

'_A little sore.'_

'_That will pass. But nothing inside you hurts? Give me your wrist, my lady. Send your elf for my bag, please, my lord.'_

He checked both their pulses, passed out potions and faced them frankly. _'My lady, you cannot possibly be pregnant after less than a day. I take you've been drinking those potions?'_

'_I have.'_

'_Then you should be fine no matter what you've been doing.'_

Snape handed over a strengthening phial just to be safe and the girl drank it. There was a lovebite on her throat, and he tapped it with his wand. It vanished. Both children went red, and Snape, giving his sternest look, decided that a bit of the Head of House would not go totally amiss here.

'_My lord Krum, might I ask you step out?'_

He did it. Snape looked at the girl, his girl, and willed Lily closer, for her to help him. She doesn't get this from me, he thought crossly. Give me what she needs right now. Mother, soothe her. She needs you too. She needs us all right now. He pictured them with him, all of them worried about their girl, all of them stern to cover their fear that she might have got hurt just now.

'_Do you know how dangerous it is for you to give into these urges?'_

'_I'm so-'_

'_Not a word. There is every chance that a child born of such a union would be, at best, severely deformed. Born without eyes, or a brain, or a mouth. Or all three. And that it is the best case scenario, do you understand that?'_

'I do, but-'

'Furthermore, you have told how many times that you absolutely cannot have a baby right now? Even aside from the dangers of playing with this sort of magic, your child is going to be a target, as would you as soon as your pregnancy was common knowledge. How would you fight, too large to move?'

'Professor, I-'

'_**I said silence**__. The risk of it-'_

'_Being a person like me?'_

Snape ground his teeth in frustration. _'Stop that.'_

'_It's true.'_

'_It certainly isn't, now cease this immediately.'_

The girl glowered. _'Just because no one will say it but me-'_

Snape reached over and took her arm. '_Stand up.'_

'_Sorry?'_

'_Stand up this second.'_

She did it, eyes widening. _'Professor, I don't understand what-_'

Keeping his grip on her, Snape stood and turned her about. He brought his other hand down hard on her backside, twice, and then sat back down.

'_Are you prepared to listen now, or shall we repeat the lesson?'_

The girl's face was marble splashed with blood. '_That hurt_!' Her hand darted back and rubbed unselfconsciously, more startled than smarting, Snape thought.

'_It was meant to. Are you ready to discuss things?'_

'_But you've never-'_

'_You chose to act like a child, so I treated you like one. A third time, are you ready to discuss things?'_

She nodded, eyes wide and startled. '_Yes_.'

'_Good. Sit down, please. Now, why is it imperative that you not get pregnant?'_

'_It's dangerous.'_

'_Yes, is it. Why?'_

'_The baby could be mutated. But Mother is as strong as I, and I'm all right. Couldn't it be the same?'_

Snape felt a cool hand on the back of his neck for a second, and knew Lily was there, Lily was helping. _'It's possible. The problem is, there is simply no way to tell beforehand.'_

'_Then I can never have children.'_

Snape leant closer, having a strange un-Snape-like urge to sit beside her and put an arm about her or something. _'No one has said that, child.'_

'_Then how will it be safe years from now?'_

'_Because we will work with you to allow you to train your body to control its magic. Hopefully that will be enough.'_

'_It might not.'_

'_Again, there is no way to know. I should think, though, that if your mother could carry you successfully, you will be fine.'_

She relaxed a bit, eyes down. _'That's good.'_

He touched her hand again, very gently and carefully. '_I am not telling you that you should not…know your husband. I understand that…I was young once, child. What I am telling you is that when you know you are in the grips of magic that powerful, that you must not give in.'_

She nodded. _'It's hard.'_

'_You are good at hard things, girl. You set a professor on fire and fought a troll and scared Walden Mcnair into giving poor Elisaveta's body back.'_

Her eyes widened again. '_You knew it was me?'_

'_One makes guesses. Who else would have?'_

'_Professor McGonagall.'_

'_She was my primary suspect, admittedly.'_

The girl rose from the bed and abruptly perched next to him, leaning against him. Snape steadied her with his arm, wondering how it was that he somehow always ended up with the girl touching him this way. Is this your doing, Lily?

'_I'm sorry.' _Her voice sounded very little to him. Snape huffed, irked that it was tugging his heartstrings. (Very slightly. Very, very slightly, because his heartstrings were made of dragon's bone and lead).

'_It is not like you to behave this way.'_

'_It was so…I wanted to show him. I never meant to hurt anyone.'_

'_I know that.' _Snape slowly raised a hand and touched her hair for a second, not sure exactly why. The girl moved closer against him, whimpering softly.

'_You've never done that before.'_

'_No.'_

'_It hurt.'_

'_It didn't. I barely tapped you.'_

'_It did. You've never been angry with me before.'_

'_I certainly have.'_

'_When?'_

'_You set me on fire.'_

'_You never said anything.' _

'_I ought to have done it then and there. Perhaps it would have broken this stubborn streak of yours.'_

The girl snorted. '_You believe that, Professor?'_

'_A man has his dreams.'_

'_You'd be bored if I didn't challenge you.'_

'_Perhaps' _allowed Snape, feeling Lily closer to him, to them. He sensed her gently moving toward Hermione, and the girl's eyes drifted closed for a second. Snape had a vision of a hand on the girl's cheek, reassuring her, calming her.

She was loved no matter how stroppy she got with him-with them, really, because Lily was loads better at the emotional thing than he. She understood that, didn't she?

The girl sighed deeply. _'It will be all right, won't it?'_

'_It will. It must.'_

'_Why do you say it like that?'_

'_I refuse to accept any less, child. And I typically get my way.'_

She laughed and then said _'Is now a good time for that story?'_

'_Lie down first. Stop wincing, it can't possibly still hurt.'_

'_That magic was powerful.'_

'_That is not at all what I…I refuse to consider the alternate implications of my remarks, now close your eyes, you terrible girl.'_

Snape spelled the blankets over her. '_If Mother was here, she would have done more than swat you, rest assured. She was quite a fierce lady when she was well. When I was seven, she found a boy down the road-Georgie something, he ended up in Borstal for lighting fires in mailboxes-tormenting a cat, and she-'_

He talked until the girl had fallen asleep. Her eyelashes were like twin fans of silk thread on her cheeks, breathing even. She groaned softly and he shushed her without meaning to.

Snape looked carefully round. No children, no elves, no manky berk of a dog to smirk and make asinine remarks. Everything was clear. He reached down and pulled the blanket higher. Just a bit.

'_You wretched girl.'_

She smiled in her sleep and he sat down again. 'It _would be counter-productive to let her wake alone'_ he sternly instructed the tent. _'She'll be that much more teachable should she wake with another here.'_

Snape scowled fiercely at nothing and called for his book and some water. He wanted her to sleep a long time, so he sat quietly for nearly four hours, until she woke up, with no notable effects on her tractability. Still, he didn't mind much.

When he dreamt of Lily that night, she was smiling.


	62. Chapter 62

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

** TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter involves flat-out CHILD ABUSE. In the interests of giving readers a choice, I have opted to bold the first sentences in the section that depict the actual abuse happening, a la Slughorn's POV but this is going to come up again, and people do talk about it later. If anyone feels unsure about reading this chapter, PM me and I'll summerise it so you'll still know what's happening. **

**It's supposed to directly parallel something from GRRM's A Clash of Kings. See the spoiler A/N at the bottom for more information. (The A/N is a spoiler for ACOK, not so much the chapter).  
**

Rabastan Lestrange stretched, careful not to make a noise lest he disturb the child kneazle-sleeping on his chest. The false-Ivan stirred anyhow, eyes coming open.

'Hello, Uncle.'

'Hello, love. Do you feel better?'

'A bit. Alecto is not nice.'

He frowned, implying he wished there was more he could say. His sleeves were rolled, and a series of fresh plum-toned bruises marched up and down each. Rabastan gently rubbed his hands over them, trying to soothe the boy's spirit if not his bruised body. Alecto had noticed the bruises vanishing, and the Dark Lord had ordered them to stop giving the boy salve. He hadn't said a word about pain potions, which was why Ivan had fallen asleep in his lap in the middle of the day.

The boy snuggled closer for a second before he slipped down. 'Dinner soon?'

'Very soon. I would have had to wake you in a few minutes.'

'Thank you for nap.'

'Any time, Ivan. Do you want to go freshen up before dinner?'

The boy obediently trotted off, shaking his head to clear it. Rabastan stood as well, knees creaking. He'd been sitting still more than an hour, trying not to move. He'd intended to put the child to bed in his own room, or at least in a bed once he was deeply under, but he'd looked so peaceful that Rab hadn't had the heart.

'Rabastan?'

'Eugenia? Is everything all right?'

'I was just about to ask you that.'

'I'm all right. You?'

'Sending that sweet little boy to those animals makes me want to vomit.' Her jaw tightened, and Rabastan put his arms about her. She leant against him, breathing deeply.

'I know.'

'Did he tell you anything?'

'He swears there's nothing to tell.'

She raised her head from his chest. 'What do you think?'

'When the time comes, I fully intend to personally kill Alecto.' He stroked her back gently, and felt her stiffen in surprise. Had he frightened her? Her face was smooth and unshaken.

'Not if I get her first.'

'Like to see you try.'

'I might well.'

'I'm taller than yourself.'

'I'm quicker. Rabastan?'

'Yes, love?'

'I miss Edric and Barty.'

'I do too.' They held one another in the grey summer sunlight and missed their family together.

It was after dinner that the news came. The family was sitting in the parlour, listening to a radio broadcast. Lately they'd been spending most of their time at Malfoy Manor. Aunt Cunegarde and dear Erasmus had mysteriously come down with a virulent sickness that was comprised primarily of carefully applied berry stains and oatmeal, so Hetty and Nagini were staying with them for the foreseeable future.

As the broadcast (it was a comedy, aimed at young people. False-Ivan's English was exactly good enough for him to get about seventy percent of the humour, and he had seemed to enjoy it quite a lot), ended, the Floo hissed. Everyone stiffened, reaching for wands.

'Hello, Metellus.'

'Good evening, all. The Dark Lord has sent for the boy.'

'It's eight o'clock at night. Ivan's bedtime is eight thirty.'

'The Dark Lord commands it.'

'Is something wrong?'

Metellus's face was bland and hostile. 'He commands and I obey. Have him ready to go in fifteen minutes.'

'Who should bring him?'

'We're sending someone.' The Floo cut off. The family looked at one another in shocked silence, until the boy hopped down from Lucius's lap. 'Vhat I should bring, you think? Lessons?'

'That's a good idea, Ivan. Have Dobby get your things, all right?'

Rabastan watched it playing out with a sort of numb horror. He-they-were sending a child into the maw of the beast, and none of them could stop it. He felt as though he were watching a picture-show play out. His mouth opened and then closed. What could he possibly say or do that might help?

Ivan caught his eye and smiled a bit. 'Is all vright, Uncle. Vhen I come back, maybe ve vread story.'

'I would like that very, Ivan.'

At least it isn't Edric, a small voice chanted over and over in his mind as the boy calmly got his satchel of papers and books together and slipped a hand into Lucius's. Lucius looked no better than Rabastan felt, and lifted the boy up to hold him against his chest, rocking a bit.

'This the kid?'

'Hello, Fenrir.'

'Well?'

'You know it is.'

Ivan climbed down again and reached a hand for Greyback's. 'Hello, Mr. Greyback.'

'You gonna puke on me this time, boy?'

'Maybe.'

'I'll take the hide off of you if you do.'

'Oh.'

Greyback swung him up and tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. 'Dark Lord's chambers.'

At least it's not Edric, the voice whispered again, and Rabastan dropped his head into his hands and told it to shut up, because some part of him agreed.

Ron Weasley had no idea what was going to happen, but as soon as he'd arrived at Hogwarts, he could sense it was going to be bad. The school had a funereal air about it, the corridors empty and shadowed by some force he couldn't quite name.

The Dark Lord was in Harry's body, and he was furious. He stood as soon as Greyback brought Ron inside, and threw the snifter he'd been drinking out of at the wall, shattering it with a high ringing sound.

'Your traitor cousins are trying Our patience. Tell him, Amycus, what that girl and her husband have done.'

Amycus took up the thread at once. 'The Bulgarians have seduced the Romanians into an alliance. Using proscribed magic, your cousin Hermione laid with a dragon in unholy congress. Her husband, your cousin Viktor, allowed it to happen, and then laid with her as well in order that his seed should be mingled with the dragon's, and an impure half-breed brought forth.'

'What else?'

'When a group of citizens protested this vile debauchery, the rogue faction of wolves led by Nicolae Pavel fell on them and ate them alive. The women they had in common and then killed them as well.'

Ron bit his tongue to keep from laughing. That was, he thought, the absolute stupidest story he'd ever heard. Lying with dragons? Pavel eating people alive? He dropped his head and said nothing, trying to look afraid.

'What have you got to say, boy? Anything?'

'No, my lord.'

'Perhaps your cousins did not get my first message. We shall have to remedy that. Thorfinn, chastise the boy.'

Ron took a step back. Rowle had hard, dead eyes, and the air he carried about was frighteningly dispassionate. He swallowed hard, knowing that protesting would blow his cover of not speaking much English.

'A cane, my lord?'

'That would be fine.'

A giant hand clamped down on his shoulder. 'I'll do it.'

'Galvin?'

'Let me do it, my lord. I hate Pavel more than anyone. I should like a chance to get back at him.'

**Ron gasped as the man lifted him up and then deposited him across his lap**. It was like with Lucius, he had time to think before the worst pain he could recall engulfed him. He shouted, kicking, writhing.

The pain didn't get better. It got worst, as the man laid into him with what surely must be killing force. He howled, unable to vent his agony any other way. The man's other hand was pinning his down, leaving him stuck and vulnerable.

'What a racket! Take him elsewhere, Galvin, but do make sure the job is done properly.'

'Gladly, my lord.' Goyle hauled him up the scruff of his neck and toted him out, bawling, that way. Ron was in too much pain to register much humiliation but a little came through, and he cried harder, unable to express himself any other way.

Goyle carried him until they were out of sight. Then he stopped and slipped an arm under his thighs and another across his back. 'No, shhh, calm down.'

Ron fought harder, sure this was a trap. Goyle kept walking. His voice was so low that it seemed like it might be all in Ron's head. 'Better me than Rowle, boy, do you hear?'

'Mmm hmm.'

'Good. When the time comes, scream and yell. Give a show, d'you understand?'

'Yes.'

'Good boy.'

Goyle took him to the Tower. It was closest. Ron bit his lip against more tears, feeling the history here. That thing in Harry and now this…he inhaled deeply. Goyle Sr's hand came up and squeezed the back of his neck gently.

'All right, chuck. We have to do this. You understand it, don't you?'

Ron nodded and spoke right in the man's ear. 'Yes.'

'Good boy. Just be a brave little soldier and it'll be done quick enough.'

Goyle set him down on a bed. 'BAD BOY! YOU'RE VERY BAD! THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE!'

Ron burst into tears. He hadn't expected the shouting, and it jarred him. He cringed, curling into a ball as Goyle Sr bellowed for an elf to fetch him a slipper. The elf left and returned with a short, vicious looking strap instead.

Goyle Sr swallowed and set it down. 'He's awfully small for a strapping, Peasy.'

'Dark Lord ordered, sir.'

Ron's chest seized with fear. He watched as Goyle Sr slowly pushed the pillows into a rough hump and motioned him over. He did it, and then his trousers slid down to his ankles.

'That'll be all, Peasy.'

'Peasy is commanded to stay and watch.'

Ron pushed his head into the duvet and vowed not to scream. But he couldn't keep it. He tried to scream as quietly as possible, and then it didn't matter any more, and he just gave in.

When it was done, Goyle Sr gently lifted him up. 'Want them back up, lad?'

'N-no!'

The trip back was miserable. Ron felt like everyone in the castle knew what had happened, and the evidence was all over his bare skin, but at the end of things, he didn't care about that right now. He might well later, but now he was clinging to Goyle Sr, who was silently patting his back as they walked.

'**Galvin? How did it go**?'

'Well, my lord.'

'Why did you not wish to use the instrument We sent you?'

'The boy is puny, my lord. I was scared I would maim him. His value would go down if he were maimed.'

'We suppose. Greyback, take him home, and see his cousins get wind of what has happened. Perhaps it will give them pause.'

Greyback jerked him roughly from Goyle Sr and they were stepping through the Floo, and finally, blessedly, on the way home. Ron held himself still, and prayed.

Hours later, Nagini was rocking. So was Rodolphus-human, and she was keeping up with him, eyes nailed to the young he was holding. Ivan-young was limp in his arms, half asleep from one of Snape-human's smelly waters, and Nagini was determined to watch him as closely as she could until he was well.

Rodolphus-human stopped for a moment, shifting the young, and Nagini rose up to sniff them both. Ivan-young smiled fuzzily.

'Lo, Nagini.'

_/hush little one nagini is here brood is here go to sleep tender deer meat when the sun comes back/_

He touched her snout gently. 'Don't be sad.'

_/sleep nagini eats enemies soon and then more chasing outside/_

Rabastan-human came and the men switched places. Rabastan-human started to sway, humming comfortingly. 'Yes, shh, shhh. That's the good boy, just let yourself drift off. Yes, shhhh.'

Nagini slithered closer. She was not especially clear on what had happened, but apparently the Master had had Ivan-young hurt somehow because…that was where her understanding ran out. Hetty-Speaker hadn't been able to translate, so Nagini was simply biding, waiting until she could kill whomever had done this.

Flicking her tongue across the young's face, she tasted what had happened to him. Eye-water, and traces of blood where he'd bit his lip. A human male she didn't know, a hot pain-smell, fear, anger.

_/nagini is here little one no more eye-water just sleep/_

'Ivan, love? Let's have some of this nice hot milk and then we'll go and lie down, all right?'

Rabastan-human held out a mug and Ivan-young reached for it. Rabastan-human shook his head immediately.

'No, love, you just relax. There, that's right, sip. Good boy. A little more. Yes, that's good.'

Nagini didn't like this business of drinking things that weren't water. She sniffed the mug and gave Rabastan-human a stern look, cocking her head. What was he feeding the young, and was it something young ought have?

'It's to help Ivan sleep, Nagini. It's going to be hard for him to drift off because he's in pain.'

_/water be would good too/_

The milk disappeared quickly and Ivan-young finally fell asleep. Rabastan-human lifted him and carried him to his bed. 'Will you stay with him, Nagini?'

Nagini slithered up on the bed in answer, twining her young in her coils. If she'd kept him where he was safe, with her, then this would never have happened. Reproaching herself, she closed her eyes and held the little one.

She woke when the outside-place, the thing Hetty-Speaker called the Floo, made a noise. Nagini didn't want to leave the young but she also couldn't have the brood undefended. She'd hurry back, was all. She raced through the corridors and to the down-place.

A huge man was standing hunched by the fire-pit. The humans were standing, sticks drawn and pointing, even Hetty-Speaker, who never pointed her stick at anyone. Nagini joined them, fangs bared, waiting for her moment.

'Goyle. What a pleasant surprise.'

The man slowly raised his upper appendages. He had no stick. 'I only want to talk.'

'Are you here from the Dark Lord?'

'No.'

'Come three steps.'

Narcissa-human knocked him down, and then they were all moving, calling Snape-human, and preparing for…something.

Nagini coiled the fellow after she'd called a number of smaller snakes to watch the young and tend the others, as well as sending the bulk to watch the borders of their territory. George, Narcissa-human's friend, had been minding Hetty-Speaker in Nagini's absence. He poked his head from her collar and mentioned that he, for one, would feel better if Hetty-Speaker were safely in the high place with Ivan-young. The others agreed, and suggested that it would safer to send a small group to watch over the two.

_/hetty wants to stay here/_

_/it would be safer elsewhere/_

_/hetty wants to help the others/_

_/if sticks come out, hetty-speaker leaves/_

_/all right/_

Snape-human came back with his bag of smelly-water and grease that he smeared on the humans sometimes.

'He came of his own volition?'

'He claims he did.'

Snape nodded, pouring a phial of smelly-water into some different smelly water, the hot kind humans called tea. Nagini resolved to encourage more drinking of plain water and slithered to help Hetty-Speaker to sit down. The little Speaker was getting bigger by the day, and Hetty-Speaker's belly was curving a little now. Nagini bumped it affectionately with her skull crests and then listened as the big man was brought back round.

'Drink this, all of it.'

'What is it?'

'Drink it.'

Grimacing, the man did. Nagini smelt the chemical entering his bloodstream and moved closer, hissing. She wanted him to be afraid. She wanted to hurt him for hurting her young.

_/no nagini not yet/_

_/the man hurt ivan-young/_

_/he might know things/_

_/eat him after then/_

_/well see/_

/humph/ Nagini narrowed her eyes and waited impatiently, sure that things would be better if she could only eat this fellow for hurting her little one.

'I've never done a thing like that in my life.'

'Why did you volunteer, Goyle?'

The Man Goyle clutched his cup more tightly. 'It was me or Rowle. Or Mcnair. You really want Thorfinn or Walden getting a go at a kid that age?'

Lucius-human sipped his own drink. 'I suppose I am simply not clear on how an act of altruism resulted in welts like that.'

'Because I tried to just use my hand on him and it wasn't good enough. God knows, I never meant to do that to the poor little fellow, but if I didn't, the Dark Lord'd give him to someone else. What happens when he decides to let Alecto do it?'

Lucius-human nodded. 'I see. So you didn't want to hurt Ivan?'

'No, of course not.

'What was your mother's maiden name?'

'Selwyn.' Goyle-human blinked slowly and looked at the cup he was drinking from.

'And your father's grandmother's?'

'Jugson, Letty Jugson. You've given me something.'

'We have. Why did you come here?'

'I want no part of this thing. I'm a soldier, I didn't sign up to beat kids. What'll he ask me to do next, Lucius?'

'Would that any of us knew, Galvin. Do you mean to sell us to the Dark Lord?'

'No.'

'Do you know anything about any conspiracies against us?'

'No.'

'Do you have any ideas?'

'Yes.'

'What are they?'

'Watch Mcnair. He's angry.'

'At what?'

'He's upset Lestrange wouldn't give his son the girl. Thank God as he didn't.'

'What makes you say that?'

'I was the one got to go clear up that mess at Madam Goforth's. We put out a story he'd cut her but he hadn't.'

'What had he done?'

'Used his teeth. She died later. He bit her to death.'

Lucius-human's smell got stronger. Nagini caressed him comfortingly with her tail, reminding him she'd help if he needed. She was only faintly aware of what most of this meant, but she could sense something dangerous and horrible was afoot.

Lucius-human swallowed. 'We very nearly gave my niece to that **thing**?'

'Damned right you did. You want the bigger one beating your boy as well?'

'No. You were quite right, Galvin. I apologise for my remarks earlier.'

Goyle-human waved him away. 'Is he all right? The boy? He's not afraid?'

'He was in a lot of pain but we finally got him to sleep.'

'I, ah, brought him something. To make him feel better.' The man slowly reached into his clothing-skins and pulled out a…thing.

'It's a top. Greg is too old now, and he's glad to share.' He showed them how to wrap the string and then tugged, making it whirl on the tip. Nagini hissed approvingly; this would help the little one learn to follow the motions of his prey.

'Thank you. Why did you come here?'

Goyle-human bit his lip, twitching a bit before the stuff Snape-human had given him kicked in. 'I want in.'

'In to what?'

'Whatever it is you're doing. I figured if anyone could stop this, it's you.'

'What makes you think that I would not turn you into the Dark Lord?'

'He's sent your boy on a suicide mission. If anyone has reason not to love the Dark Lord, it's you.'

'I see. What could you offer to a group, if there was such a thing, which I am not saying that there is?'

'People say things in front of me. They think I'm stupid.'

'Valuable, perhaps. What else? We might well require a proof of sincerity.'

'My son Galten would want to join as well. Probably a few others as well. My daughter in law, and Alf Crabbe.'

'You've not mentioned it to them?'

'Course not.'

'You understand that you could be asked to be terrible things. Acts of sabotage. Torture. Murders, if it came to that.'

Goyle-human snorted. 'So what's different, then? Look about us, Malfoy. Winter is coming, and the Dark Lord is tearing down our house as quick as he can. If there's to be a Britain at all when this is done, we need to act.'

'You understanding you could be asked to betray our country to Bulgaria?'

'Betray my arse. If it saves us, then it's no betrayal.'

'So if it came to you to disable the wards at Hogwarts, or kill the Dark Lord as he slept, or help to organise a massacre at the Ministry even as I did, you would do it?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'You know my Greg is Draco's age. Alfie's boy too. Vince, his name is.'

'I remember Vincent.'

'There's, ah, the Dark Lord is…it's bad, Malfoy. It's bad now. Anything good in him is gone now. Maybe it never was.'

Lucius-human leant forward. 'Galvin, what do you mean?'

'You're the lucky one. Draco's not in the country, but the others, oh, God…'

He covered his face with his hands, making eye-water, shoulders shaking. Nagini slithered over and rested her head on his knee.

_/nagini might still eat you but no eye water all right nagini protects young/_

'He's means to let them burn. He's using them…he means to make a stand, you see, and the boys are…they're his last line of defense.'

'What?'

'He's going to burn it all, and my son with it.'

Lucius-human made a soft sympathetic noise and let the man keep talking. Nagini coiled about Goyle-human and listened as well, hissing to help him calm down and explain.

'We know about that, Galvin. Why don't you tell us what you know?'

Goyle-human did.

**Spoiler A/N: SPOILER FOR A CLASH OF KINGS HERE-**

**The scene with the Dark Lord and fake-Ivan is supposed to parallel Joffrey's having Sansa beaten every time Robb wins a battle in the second book. For those of you who have read the book, when the Stark host beats the Lannisters at Oxcross, Joffrey has Lancel tell Sansa a bunch of patently stupid stuff about it-specifically, that the Northmen warged and ate the dead.  
**


	63. Chapter 63

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Historical note: Butter used to be a luxury good. In the Victorian age, the only people who routinely ate butter were people who could either afford to produce it themselves or buy it and had access to a relatively cold place (like a cellar) to store it. Poor folks ate cheese, which will keep much longer with no refrigeration.  
**

Scabior was troubled. Below them, five thousand Egyptian janissaries in pointed caps, and bearing the staffs the Egyptians preferred to wands, marched cheek by jowl with Finnish puukkojunkkaris, with loops of chain about their necks and their knives in hand. Latvians, Croats and Frenchmen, the whole lot moving in terrifying lockstep, twenty thousand strong, the most people he'd ever seen in a single place.

And all of them to help invade Britain. Scabior bit the inside of his cheek and considered that as wave after wave of fighters marched to just under the dais and then retreated. He considered what that could mean and felt faintly nauseous.

Alise, at least, looked lovely, he thought, clean-scrubbed, dark hair peeking out from under her scarf. He preened a little, touching her elbow, proud to show her off to everyone. She leant into him, eyes bright with some feeling Scabior couldn't name.

'_*Word from Flower?*'_

'_*They'll be here any moment. They're coming from Varna right now.*'_

'_*Fleet arrive?*'_

'_*It did.*'_

'_*Gud. Glad t ear they're comin. Lads'll want to see em and ear em talk.*'_

She nodded, watching as the first of the janissaries peeled off and formed into companies. Their officers bellowed orders, the men behind them keeping formation even as they moved effortlessly, and then, like that, they were standing still, forty thousand eyes staring up at them.

They heard the rest of the party rather than saw it. The cheering started from the back of the massed row of troops, twenty thousand voices shouting as one as the group, flanked by wolves to protect them, moved forward. The men crowded to see them, shouting in a welter of languages.

'_*As Tamm gots is arm n a sling, Eugen?*' _

Scabior's eyes narrowed. If something had happened, he'd take some goddamned heads when he got back. He'd handpicked the security detail, but mistakes happened.

'_*Looks like it.*'_

The fighters were pressing in, cheering, touching the people cradled by the wolves.

Scabior wasn't especially aware of the concept of public relations as such, but he recognized that this was good for them, good for the men. Let them see who they were dying for, he thought, and waved down, delighted when they all waved back at him. He'd once been a filthy urchin snitching meat pies in St. Dismas's Rookery; now heads of state waved at him. Life seemed very sweet to him then, despite his reservations. He grinned and waited for them to arrive.

It was in fact a sling. Scabior looked askance at the boy and waited until all the greetings had been exchanged.

'_*You awrite, Mr. Tamm?*'_

Before the kid could answer, Malfoy glared at him. '*_**Someone**__ decided to climb the riggings again and fell.*'_

'_*I thought I had the rope and I didn't.*'_

Scabior gave him a stern look and Tamm squirmed. If he'd been a gentleman, Scabior would have waited until they were in private to give the kid a good whack to the back of the head by way of a reminder not to climb things he had no business climbing.

'_*Yer Mam know?*' _

'_*Not yet.*'_

'_*I'd ate t ave to tell er yer urt if sumthin serious appened.*' _

He looked harder at Tamm, who blushed, staring at his shoes. Beside Scabior, Arco was nodding, and gave a single low growl to agree.

'_*It wasn't a very far fall, Scabior.*'_

'_*You urts yer arm.*'_

'_*A little.*'_

'_*Mmm hmmm.*' _Arco growled a bit louder, head cocked. Tamm went even redder.

'*Sorry.*'

'_*Sandru*' _said Arco abruptly '*_has mentioned how good an example you set for lord Borev and Miss Krum. Typically speaking.*'_

Tamm shook his head. _'*I wouldn't let them climb, if that's what you mean.*'_

'_*Why not?*'_

'_*It's dan…oh.*'_

'_*We all makes mistakes. Jus doan you do it no more, or you an me'll ave to ave a talk bout it. And Arco, if e likes.'*_

Arco nodded and gave a piercing look with any number of meanings. Tamm went even redder and nodded. _'*I'll be careful.*' _Scabior had the impression the boy secretly liked it a bit. Like Arco, he seemed to thrive on having someone tell him off from time to time.

'_*Awrite then, lad.*' _

Scabior might not have been a gentleman, but his wife was well-born, so he felt all right giving Tamm a friendly cuff on the shoulder to make it clear he still liked him. And would make his life very unpleasant should he climb something dangerous again.

The cheering took some minutes to abate completely. When it had, the silence left in its wake seemed like an invitation. Scabior breathed deeply as Flower and Krum stepped forward and started to speak.

Dinner in the officer's mess tent, a plate of lamb and vegetables, time with the lads.

Things seemed a bit brighter, and to lift his spirits further, Scabior was contemplating chucking a dinner roll at Nicolae Pavel.

He felt good about his odds. The only people in the tent were their own; the foreign officers would be departing on the morrow to return to their own countries, they were eating with the nobs in another tent. Scabior was with the wolves, so a bit of playing might not go amiss.

He waited until his quarry had turned to say something to Mihai and then let fly. The roll bounced off the back of Nicolae's head. The wolf was fast; he spun and caught it, holding it up.

'_*I think you know something about this, Lemuel.*'_

Scabior looked as innocent as he could, shrugging. _'*Musta bin sumone else. I never seen that roll before in me life.*'_

'_*Like whom?*'_

'_*Aint seen Eugen lately.*'_

As it happened, Arco walked back in from the lav, only to get the roll tossed at him. He caught it, looking mildly startled. _'*Is it raining again?*'_

'_*Scabior thinks you threw it at me. Did you?*'_

'_*No.*'_

'_*Are you sure?*'_

'_*Quite.*' _

He sat down and started eating again without another word. Scabior laughed and called for another roll. This one he slathered with butter (imagine the luxury of it, as Scabior did. Fresh butter, as much as he liked, rather than hard cheese or nothing at all) and ate, knowing Arco would pounce him later, relishing the idea of a friendly fight.

Arco did pounce him. Scabior snorted a laugh even as he swung, bringing his knee up to try to knock the wind from his opponent, who was only about an inch an taller and weighed the same.

Arco dodged, growling playing, and pinned him with very little trouble. Scabior went limp as though in surrender, and then, sensing he had a second, jerked violently, trying to dislodge his friend.

Arco let him, and the two bounded to their feet and circled one another. Scabior had a knife in his boot and a larger one at his hip, but he would no more have drawn on Eugen than he would have drawn on Alise. It was all in good fun, a puppy-tussle to blow off some energy.

He sprang. Scabior had never had the height or weight of most men, but he was quick, and he was tough. Arco was ready for him, and the two went down, rolling and snapping and laughing as Scabior punched and kicked and tried to squirm free.

The two fought happily for some time, and came to a sort of draw in that Eugen was unwilling to actually risk hurting Scabior and Scabior was basically unable to hurt him without drawing a knife or using his wand.

They stood up, shook hands and checked one another over thoroughly. Arco bent his head and sniffed Scabior for internal injuries, frowning a bit.

'_*Did you skip lunch today?*'_

'_*Yeah. No time, Eugen.*'_

'_*That's not good for you.*' _

He frowned again but stepped back so Sandru Istok could do the same for him. Scabior grinned, feeling bruises forming on his ribs and back. Alise would scold him but that was all right.

Nicolae had watched the whole thing play out. _'*Eugen, would you go make sure that the Lord Protector has everything he needs?*'_

The message was obvious, and soon enough Scabior and Pavel were alone.

'_*That was a good fight, Lem.*'_

'_*Ad a rite gud time, s'well.*'_

Nicolae nodded, looking up at the stars. _'*I saw the fleet at Varna today. Five hundred longships are docked within sight of Castle Krum.*'_

'_*Must be quite a thin t see.*'_

'_*It is. Are you all right with all this, Lem? Honestly?*'_

Scabior considered a moment, chewing his thumbnail absently.

'_*Well, yes n no. I ate the idea of vadin me own country. I loves England, always ave. But Nicolae, what's appenin aint rite. Me Da, e worked in a concern made potions, for instance. What'll you think'll appen we come and there aint no more aurors t fight? They'll takes them blokes from the concerns an set em to fightin. Oo'll feed their wimmen an children then?*'_

Pavel nodded slowly. _'*I hadn't even thought of that. My God.*'_

'_*Aint gunna be no food, neither, wunce the wolves start fightin. Where all them poor people gunna get food from, Nicolae? An coal? An med'cine, once the concerns close and the apothecaries can't get no potions from em?*'_

'_*We need to go tell them right now. This can be averted-put off-I think, but thank God you brought it up.*'_

'_*Go rite now, then?*'_

'_*Right this second.*'_

They rose and went to find Flower and her Bulgarian.

They were getting ready to leave. _'*Scabior, is everything all right?*'_

'_*Fine, milady, but mebbe we cud talk?*'_

The five (Alise was there as well, looking at his purpling wrists curiously) went to a small copse of trees and sat down. Scabior explained what he had just told Pavel. Krum nodded. '*_Draco's been thinking along those lines as well. Our need to control what happens on the ground. Have you got any suggestions?*'_

'_*Mebbe find sum way to gets food and supplies to them as are stuck without? People in the country might be awrite a while, milord. They gots gardens and pigs and whatnot. The ones in the slums, now, they're the ones gunna starve.*'_

Flower gnawed her lip as she did when faced with a problem. _'*We should find a way to funnel food in somehow, but they'd know it was us.*'_

Scabior touched her sleeve. _'*Plenty a char'tees out there, Flower. Mebbe we cud set one up as a front, like?*'_

'_*We could ask the Professor. The Dark Lord might like the idea of having an ear to the ground in the poorer communities.*'_

'_*Why zat, Flower?*'_

Flower looked a little uncertain. _'*Well, because it might…there's a lot of people like that, aren't there?*'_

'_*Lots n lots.*'_

'_*Maybe Rice and the others could put out feelers to see if anyone might want to help us. We could make it seem like it was the opposite…sniffing out enemies. When the time came, it would be nice to have people inside.*'_

Scabior made his voice gentle. _'*Flower, them people wont wants to elp us, not rite off. Aint no one ates change more n people oo doan know where their nex meal's comin from.*'_

'_*I didn't realise...*' _She blushed a little.

'_*Aint like you'd ave no reason to know.*'_

'_*I think*' _said Krum _'*that idea might have merit, though. It could help us cut down on casualties, at least.*'_

'_*Ow's that, milord?*'_

'_*Suppose*' _said Krum very carefully _'*that we should set up this false charity. We could send wolves to infiltrate in the guise of being Greyback's men, and find some way to…I don't know, create someplace for them to go. Those old buildings, they can't be very safe.*'_

'_*Tinderboxes, the lot of em. Gunna go up soon's the fire starts.*'_

Flower suddenly grinned. _'*That gives me an idea, actually.*_'

'_*I was hoping you would say that, Hermione.*'_

Scabior had been as well. Flower bent her head toward them and started to talk.

In England itself, there was quite a lot of talking going on. Galvin Goyle was a regular, if covert, visitor these days, and as Rodolphus watched, false-Ivan clamored comfortably into his lap and rested his head, breathing deeply.

Galvin used a hand the size of a dinner plate to rub the boy's back. 'There's the good boy. Take a rest now, chuck.'

The boy nodded. This thing with Alecto was hard on him, and all of them knew that it was a matter of time before he was summoned again to account for something else before the Dark Lord. God willing, Galvin would be dispatched to beat him again, rather than someone like Mcnair or Alecto herself.

Things have come to a bad pass, mused Rodolphus unhappily, when one spends time considering who the best candidate to beat a child is. He called for warm milk laced with a mild sedative for his faux-nephew and wine for Galvin and himself.

'That's right, chuck, just drink it down. Shhhh, shhhh, then we'll go upstairs and have a nap, hmmm?'

'I vould like that.'

As soon as the boy was drifting, Galvin looked at Rodolphus. 'Alecto?' he mouthed, and mimed a pinch. Rodolphus shook his head and mouthed back that they'd discuss it later.

Both men walked upstairs to put the boy to bed, and then came back to the library. Half a dozen snakes were waiting in the bed, led by Narcissa's George. Galvin laid the sleeping child in their midst, and they slithered to surround him, keeping him safe. George reared up and sternly hissed at them, darting looks to false-Ivan.

'Alecto hurt him again, George. If he wakes, would you send someone to us?'

George dipped his head and then moved until he was draping the boy's head, mouth by his ear to hiss him to a deeper sleep.

'What'd she do?' Galvin asked as they closed the door behind themselves.

'She was hitting him with a ruler.'

'For what?'

'He refuses to use the word mudblood. We've told him it's not worth being beaten over but he won't move.'

'Can't Snape do anything to keep him from bruising like that?'

Rodolphus shook his head. 'He's giving him pain potions and things to accelerate healing, but we aren't supposed to dose him at all, so we can't do anything too dramatic. She checks him every day.'

'That bitch.'

'We can't do much about it, unfortunately. He's taking the whole thing with remarkable equanimity, I think.'

Galvin sat down in his usual place. 'Greg, too.'

'What does the Dark Lord have them doing?'

'Four hours of indoctrination daily and then advanced Dark magic. Amycus was trying to teach them how to release Fiendfyre yesterday.'

'What?' Rodolphus nearly spat his mouthful of wine. He knew as much as Dark magic, theory and practice, as nearly any wizard in Britain, and even he wouldn't dare muck with something so dangerous.

'Swear it's true. Vince said the same. Day before they wanted them practicing Unforgivables.'

'On whom?'

Galvin took a large swallow of wine. 'The test them every week. The ones that scored poorly, their brothers and sisters.'

Rodolphus stared at him in shock and mounting horror. 'They wanted them to, to cruciate children?'

'That's right. Greg told her to fuck herself. He's all cut up and bruised.' Galvin sounded justly proud of his son. Rodolphus fleetingly felt the urge to sick up. Children, God help them, children like Ivan…

'Is he…?'

'He's in. Galten's in. Tiggy's in.'

'They all know the consequences?'

'They do.'

Rodolphus nodded. 'Any more news of Greyback?'

'None. Wish there was. He makes me nervous.'

'All of us.'

'What about on your end?'

Rodolphus sipped his wine in order to buy a little time to consider. 'My daughter and son in law are well, as are the others.'

'That's good. No little strangers on the horizon?'

'No, we've made them swear not until she's at least eighteen.'

Galvin gave an approving murmur. 'Too young and the babies are apt to be puny.'

'Hermione is quite petite herself. Better to let her mature a bit more physically.'

'She still have that old orange tom?'

'Crookshanks. He's as hearty as ever.'

'Handsome cat, that one. He'll live to be twenty-five or thirty, I would think.'

'Bad news for us, then?'

They both laughed a bit. 'Galvin?'

'Hmmm?'

'We need to get into Hogwarts and look for something important. Would your boy be willing to help provide us with a cover?'

'What sort of cover?' Galvin leant forward interestedly, elbows on knees.

'My nephew so wants to see where the big boys go to school. Would your Gregory show him about?'

'Greg'd be delighted.'

'There might be snakes involved.'

'Like the ones upstairs?'

'Like Nagini, potentially.'

'Greg doesn't mind snakes.'

Rodolphus explained a bit more of the plan, and Galvin was gratifyingly receptive. He went home just as the others arrived from their various errands.

'Aunt and Erasmus are well?'

'Bouncingly so. They're listening to this absolutely dreadful music and playing gobstones all day.'

'That's a relief. Hetty, how was your appointment?'

Hetty beamed. 'My baby is getting so much bigger! She's even starting to move a bit now.'

'That's spectacular, love. Are you up to helping out a little? And Nagini?'

'Of course we are.'

'Galvin's younger son will show yourselves and Ivan about. Once we've figured out what needs to happen, you might split up and take different tacks.'

Nagini raised her head and stared piercingly at him. 'Ivan will have Gregory with him, and a few snakes as well.'

She subsided but only just, the tip of her tail twitching in annoyance. She and the other snakes were upset at the inability to heal the boy's bruises and angered that the Master was, for reasons they could not comprehend, hurting a child to prove some esoteric point.

'I swear to you, Nagini, that we'll do all we can to protect Ivan.'

Her tail twitched a bit harder and she put her head down, acquiescing for the moment. Rodolphus turned his attentions to the others.

'Any idea when Snape will get here?'

'A few hours. He's meeting with Mulciber and running some errand for the Dark Lord.'

Bellatrix made a rude noise. 'Oh, well, I suppose we should all just sit and wait until his highness is ready, is it?'

'We could spend the time together, Trixie.'

'We did that once and I had a baby.'

'Bellatrix, really.'

'What, Lucius? That was what caused that, wasn't it?'

'I'm sure I wouldn't know.'

'Not what Cissy seems to think.'

Everyone laughed. 'We shall leave you to it, then. To spending time together, I mean.' Eugenia actually blushed a little, which made Rodolphus give her a friendly wink. Bellatrix's humor could be a bit startling, to say the least.

'I should like you to know' said Lucius sternly 'that the high moral tone of Malfoy Manor is being impugned by your coarse remarks.'

'I should like you to get stuffed.'

'Honestly, why do I try?'

'Because you're a pillock. Always have been.'

'Narcissa, your sister is being impossible again.'

'I know, darling. We'll go and have a nice nap.'

'Oh, and I'm impugning the high moral tone. Cissy's got a gleam in her eye I don't much like.'

'Haven't.' Narcissa smiled and slipped an arm through her husband's, who absently kissed her head.

'You have so. I know that look.'

'Lucius, darling, have I got a look?'

'Only a beautiful one, love.'

'Get out, the both of you. My stomach is turning.'

Bellatrix grinned as she said it, and Narcissa lightly cupped her cheek before she led Lucius out. As the door closed, Rabastan heard him say plaintively 'Did your sister just order me out of our Blue room, Cissy?'

'She does that.'

'I've quite noticed, but our high moral tone is being compromised.'

Fortunately her reply was lost to the rest of the house. The others started to leave, and Rodolphus found himself asking his brother to stay behind with Trixie and himself.

'Should I be afraid?'

'Always.' Trixie grinned maniacally at him. Rabastan, used to it, didn't react, and after a second she stopped, sulking slightly. Rodolphus rolled his eyes and then cleared his throat to get their attention.

'Dragons.'

'Is this word association?'

'We need to discuss it, Bellatrix.'

She sobered, sitting down. 'We do.'

'Snape said she was marvelous.'

'How else would she be, precisely? She's ours.'

There was no ego in Bellatrix's voice, only a strange sad pride. Their daughter, made in a bloody bed and raised to be the face of the New Britain, was exactly that, but what shape that New Britain might take-what shape their daughter might give it-was a mystery, as completely secret as the night Rodolphus had entered his wife under the Marked sky and started their child.

'It's hard to know how to feel.'

He took her hand a second, feeling how soft and small it was, how strong. He had loved her since he was old enough to notice girls. There was never a point that Bellatrix had not been one of the twin lodestars of his adult life, along with the Dark Lord.

And his brother. Rabastan and Rodolphus had never had the usual hiccoughs of sibling life. Rodolphus had always loved his brother, striven to protect him, to teach him things, and Rabastan repaid his efforts with easy obedience and a willingness to be taught.

'Things will start happening soon, I daresay.'

Rabastan took her other hand. 'The sooner they do, the faster we'll be with the children again.'

'If none of us die fighting.'

Rodolphus gave them both a stern look. 'Don't say those things. It's ill-omened.'

'It's true. I used to say I wanted to die like that, remember? Surrounded by a pile of enemy corpses, fighting until they brought me down. I might get my chance, now.'

'Trixie…'

She shook her head. Rodolphus inhaled, trying to find a positive position to attack this from and failing. He fell silent, head in hands. What would happen if they did? Would it be terrible? For Hermione and the others, perhaps, but Rodolphus wondered what the alternative was. A life in exile? Ignominy, forever? Explaining to their grandchildren, if the children lived long enough to give them any, why history remembered them as monsters?

Rabastan made a noise of irritation. 'Stop it or I'm leaving. We've been given a second chance and all either of you can think about is the downside.'

Both of them were startled enough to stop moving. 'Rab?'

'Even if we're done in Britain, Bulgaria would welcome us. We could be normal, for God's sake. I'd like a few years where I'm not trying to kill someone, wouldn't you?'

Bellatrix snorted. 'Yes, I'm ever so good at that.'

'You are when aren't trying not to be.'

'What's that supposed to be?'

'I love you, Bellatrix, as a sister, but you've always enjoyed the role you've made for yourself. You can shed that, finally, and so can the rest of us.'

'As if I had a choice. How else would I have made it, being the lone woman in the group? Aside from that Carrow bitch, but she was a cipher then.'

'I'm not saying I don't understand why you did it. I'm saying if we should help to topple the Dark Lord, then perhaps we might…atonement isn't possible, I expect. Not really, not in any way it would count. But perhaps…if it makes things better, it might help. Ivan asked me about it the other day.' There was only one 'it' in this context, and the room got a little colder.

'What did you tell him, Rab?'

'The truth. We were afraid, and we were fanatics, and then it was too late to fix.'

Bellatrix breathed out softly, once. 'He took it well?'

'He doesn't seem to be afraid of us, at least. I'm not sure that anyone his age could really understand how it was at that moment.'

'The children could.'

'If we could go to them, and help them, and council them, perhaps they wouldn't need to understand it. It's already too late, I expect, but perhaps we might save them from our worst mistakes. That might be the best thing we can hope for, Bellatrix. Worth living for, surely?'

'Hermione is worth living for, and Edric.'

'Always.'

Rodolphus took her hand again, and gently patted his little brother. 'Now that we've established that, let's move on, shall we?'

'Don't pretend, Rodolphus! It bothers you as well!'

'Of course it does, but I'd rather not dwell on things.'

'Why not? Perhaps it's time we did, then. As a group.'

The forth member of their sad fraternity was absent. Barty had been nineteen when he'd gone with them and now he was seven, forever a joyous child who loved them and whom they loved as much, whom they had failed and now cared for as an act of penance and an honour.

'What do you want to speak about?'

'It's your turn, Rodolphus!'

Rodolphus pinched the bridge of his nose and wished Trixie had a sore throat. Just a small one, just enough to keep what he suspected would be a moderate amount of shrieking to a minimum.

Before he could begin, Snape arrived. 'Bellatrix, pack enough for a week, and Narcissa. You're leaving tonight.'

She was nearly out the door before the man had finished. Snape followed her, still talking. The Lestrange brothers were alone.

'Rodolphus?'

'Rabastan?'

'I've always regretted that I could not help you that night Barty told Hermione. I'm sorry I could not have been of help.'

Rodolphus hugged him one-armed, and the two brothers sat together and waited to see what would happen next.


	64. Chapter 64

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Things are complicated right now, y'all. I got back to University in time for the weather to take a turn for the worse. For those of you in the Gulf region of the American southeast, you know what I mean.  
**

** 'To be Christmas to death with (someone's) birthday' was coined by a dear friend on mine, on whose couch I am currently ensconced. Thank you, J. I owe you a million.  
**

Draco had only agreed because, as much as he felt embarrassed to admit it, he didn't want to make Viktor cross with him. His brother and best friend and cousin practically never pushed an issue, so Draco had no idea what Viktor might do if he'd just flatly refused. He preferred not to find out, and so here he was, ready to go see this damned mind-healer.

His other brother and cousin and friend was beside him, fiddling with his patch. He seemed a bit anxious. 'What if I tell this fellow the wrong thing?'

'What do you mean, Anu, the wrong thing?'

Anu spread his hands. 'He won't get it. I don't know how to…what if I can't make him understand?'

Draco clapped his back, comforted by comforting the younger lad. 'It's his job to understand. This is going to work.'

'Do you really believe that?'

'I believe I'll throw you in the lake if you don't stop worrying yourself about nothing.'

'I'm telling you said that.'

'I'm telling what an impossible brat you are.'

'Am not.'

'Are too.'

'Not.'

'Too.'

'Not not not.'

'Too, and don't contradict your elders.'

'You've never been able to give me a source for that.'

'Did Luan teach you this?'

'Mmm hmm.'

'Remind me to hex him. I won't have you thinking you can outsmart me.'

Anu grinned, dropping his head. Draco cuffed him affectionately, glad the kid was there. He hadn't initially loved having his own fan-club, but the best thing about their odd family was that there was always room for others in it, and now it was hard to picture things without the Tamms.

'And stop fiddling with that sling, too. Honestly, every time I think you're cured of this climbing thing, you do something else to make me doubt my own sanity.'

'It's fun, though, and I've never had a serious accident.'

'Says the boy with his shoulder in a sling.'

'It's only for another few days, Drago. The sling, I mean.'

'You aren't going to live another five minutes if I catch you climbing about. I mean it, Anu.'

'If I'm learning the ship, though, I have to climb the riggings.'

'When you've got people to spot you, for a sane reason. This was not the same and you know that.'

'It helps me sleep if I go to bed tired.'

Draco raised both his eyebrows and touched Anu's chin to make him look up. 'So does hard crying, I understand.'

Anu's eye widened. 'You wouldn't.'

'Oh, you think so?'

'N-no! But I mean, ah, it's not, errr…I wouldn't like that.'

'Neither would I, but if that's what it takes I'll do it. Or Viktor, and he'd take it even worse than I would. That says something.'

'It's not so bad, Drago, not really.'

'Anu.'

'Your father said the same thing. In the winter, I mean.'

'If Father was here, I promise you it'd still hurt too much to sit down. Do you think so?'

'Yes.'

'Well, don't make me write him and tell him, then.'

Anu shuffled his feet, red-faced. He looked half ready to cry and Draco, exasperated by how damned hard this was, put both arms round him.

'Don't look like I've just beaten Christmas to death with your birthday, would you? It's not the end of the world.'

'I don't like it when people are upset with me.'

'I don't like it when you risk yourself. If you're going to climb, at minimum take your elf and tell people. And no more castles, ever.'

'So it's all right if I ask first?'

'It's all right if you've got permission. Asking Goose or using Albanian to someone who doesn't speak it doesn't count.'

Anu leant into the hug another second and then backed up. 'Drago?'

'Hmmm?'

'This is going to be hard, I think. With this mind-healer. I'll stop climbing without permission if you'll agree to try. Do you?'

'You'll stop climbing because I'll take my belt to you if you don't.' Draco wouldn't, but Anu didn't need to know that at the moment.

'Promise me? About the mind-healer, not the belt.'

'Promise.'

Arco stepped through the Floo. 'Ready, gentlemen?'

They stepped through to go meet this person and try to explain the unexplainable.

Bellatrix Lestrange hit the ground in Sofia just as darkness was falling over the roofs of that ancient city. With Narcissa beside her, she swept into the family part of the Ministry and sat down in a lounge, pretending that she was not nervous.

She didn't need to wait long; Kreacher went to retrieve the girl, who swept in, skirts flying, scarf askew, speaking rapid-fire to an elf that was trailing her with a clipboard.

'And furthermore, Niska, tell him if this continues to be an issue, the Lord Protector and I will-Mother?'

Bellatrix stood up and opened her arms. Hermione fell into them, hugging her with desperate, excited force. 'I've missed you so much!'

'Girl, calm down. Shhh, shhhh. Calm down.'

Hermione pressed her face into her mother's neck, breathing deeply. 'Sorry. Sorry.'

'Hush. What's wrong?'

Hermione shook her head. 'Later.'

'Now, girl.'

'Please?'

'No.'

Bellatrix hugged tighter, frowning. The girl just seemed off somehow. She wasn't precisely sure how she knew it, but something in her was throbbing with the knowledge, a kind of extra organ attuned to the girl's own heart. What could this be?

'Bellatrix? Perhaps the two of you might take a walk after we've eaten?'

Hermione raised her head from Bellatrix's jagged collarbones. 'Aunt Cissy? I'm sorry I didn't notice you before.'

'Love, it's fine. Come let me kiss you.' Hermione obediently did just that, and Cissy duly kissed her cheeks and squeezed her to make sure she hadn't lost anymore weight.

'No' said Hermione, sounding wry 'if anything I've gained. It's the potions.'

'Better that than the other, girl. I'll skin you, else.'

'Yes, Mother. Let me send for Draco and the rest of the boys, all right?'

It was a very good meal, and good fun to spend time with the children. After, the two ladies rose for their walk, donning light cloaks to wander the courtyards, Hermione's arm in her mother's.

'Well?' Bellatrix Silenced the area and glared at her daughter in mingled concern and grumpiness. She'd told Rodolphus the girl was too old to whack but she'd feel more than slightly tempted if, as she suspected, Hermione was bottling something up inside.

Hermione sat down on a bench. 'We're almost ready, Mother. The troops are training as we speak.'

'I've heard. Good girl.'

'No' said Hermione sounding infinitely sad 'it's not...I'm...how did you do it?'

'Do what?'

'We go down and talk to him. Herr Doktor Grindelwald, I mean. He tells me things about how we should proceed. He likes me. And it all...I see it in my mind's eyes. I can feel it in my blood. It scares me.'

'Feel the magic?'

'Yes. He can...he likes me.'

'Everyone likes you.'

'No, but...Mother, he...'

'You connect with him. He makes you feel...'

'It feels like we're reading from the same book.'

Bellatrix swallowed hard. Hadn't she felt that once, sitting at the feet of a great man? Or, she saw now, a man she'd thought was great. 'He hasn't touched you?'

'No! I mean, no, Mother. I'd never...'

'Of course not. But he hasn't tried to seduce you?'

'Not physically.'

That was something, at least. 'What does the boy say?'

'Viktor would rather I not let Grindelwald seduce me.' She said it so reasonably and normally that it took a second for Bellatrix to process the actual content of her remark. Her hand flashed out to swat the girl's wrist.

'Cheeky! I ought to send for my brush.'

'I don't have much hair now, Mother.'

'It wasn't for your hair, girl.' Bellatrix glowered and Hermione, vexingly, laughed and snuggled against her. Her mother put her arms round her and held her. Her girl was alive and they were together. It was enough for right now.

'Did Grindelwald tell you what to do with the dragons?'

'Mainly that was Luan. Luan Ismaili?'

'The one who never smiles?'

'That's him. He found the spells for us in some scrolls.'

Bellatrix scowled harder. 'You decided to try to dragon magic on the recommendation of a lunatic and scrolls deciphered by a teenage boy?'

'It sounds worse put that way, Mother.'

Despite herself, Bellatrix laughed a bit. 'I'm sure. How did you...tell me about it?'

'I'm not sure I can. I would like to, but it was so big.'

Bellatrix held her more tightly. 'I know how that is.'

'Was it for you, too?'

'Yes. What else does Grindelwald teach you?'

They discussed matters for some time. Finally Bellatrix tapped her daughter gently on the forehead.

'So how much of it have you tried, girl?'

'Not much, Mother.'

'Shall we take some time and go over things tomorrow, then?'

'Is that all right?'

'Of course it is.'

Hermione nestled against her, closing her eyes. 'I would like that, Mother.'

Bellatrix wouldn't. She didn't want her girl-her little girl, her mind insisted despite her stern self-reminder that Hermione was a married lady-playing about with these things, which had brought her to so much grief.

If it was going to happen, it was going to happen. She smoothed the girl's shortened hair and said nothing. 'You're a good girl, Hermione.'

'It's hard to feel it, sometimes.'

'It shouldn't be. You know how proud of you we are.'

They sat together for a very long time, holding one another in the twilight.

Narcissa could sense the energy in the air that morning, a smell of promise and danger. So could George, who'd insisted on coming with her. He poked his head from her bodice and flicked the air with his tongue, head tilted.

'I feel it too, my darling.'

He turned back to her, slithering up her neck to coil there. She could sense his simple pleasure as she stroked his skull gently. 'I am glad you came with me.'

He hissed, tail slowly twitching. Narcissa wished they could properly talk to one another but she expected they understood the most important things implicitly.

'Draco needs us, I think.'

George dipped his head vigorously. He had liked the children at once, especially Draco, and had spent some twenty minutes on his shoulders, flicking his skin and gently rubbing against him as he did to calm the humans down.

'Well, we'll see what we can do. You mustn't quarrel with Crookshanks, do you swear?'

George dipped his head again, brushing her chin with his head, tasting her skin.

'All right.'

The two of them went downstairs. Draco was bent over a pile of parchments, muttering to himself as he handed this one and that one to various elves.

'Send me Kreacher, Blixo. Niska, where the devil is-good morning, Mother. George.'

'What's all this, Draco?'

He spread the papers out so she could look them over. 'It's all to do with training. Invoices, discipline reports-two Finns got into a fight over a card game last night and one of them is badly injured, I told them to take those damned knives away, sorry-medical reports, inventory for the food stores in each camp, that sort of thing.'

'My word, Draco.'

'Have you eaten?'

'Have you?'

'No, Mother.'

Narcissa sat across from him, loosing George so he could sniff everything, lifting his head to give commentary no one could understand. He didn't seem to mind. He slithered to Draco to watch what he was doing.

'Don't the secretaries do this sort of thing, Draco? Not that you aren't doing splendidly.'

Draco nodded. 'Oh, they do. This is what's left, Mother, once they cull the things that we can delegate. Once that happens, Luan sorts everything and I choose what needs immediate attention and what can wait. We'll meet at nine to go over it all and then it starts again at noon.'

'You must be exhausted.'

Draco ran his fingers through his hair like his father. 'It's interesting, though. I like being able to make things happen.'

Narcissa smoothed his brow. 'You do it well. Everyone says how important your work is.'

He smiled a little. 'Are you enjoying my parchments, George?'

George nosed his hand affirmatively. Draco stroked his head with a finger and went back to his reading. He stood up, face whitening.

'Call Viktor and Anu, Niska, and get me some of that mourning letter-head.'

'Darling?'

'Sven Lofstrom's died.'

The boys came immediately, looking flushed. 'Duelling?'

'That's right. Anu almost disarmed me twice.'

Anu blushed and dropped his head. 'Viktor let me.'

'Didn't, and what did we say about being self-deprecating?'

'Sorry.'

Viktor cuffed him gently. 'Drago?'

'Lofstrom's died. I thought we ought to send a note. Privately, not a formal one. A formal one as well, but...'

'Of course.'

Anu bit his lip. 'He's not in pain now, at least.'

'Exactly so.'

'He hated it. Dying that way.'

Draco squeezed his shoulder. 'It's all right, Anu.'

'I know. Just wish we could have...'

'He was past all help, Anu. It was enough that we forgave him and helped him to feel better.'

Anu turned and shyly lifted his arms for a hug. Narcissa did it at once, smoothing his hair lightly. 'Shhh. Shhhh.'

'He was crying. It was terrible.'

'You helped him as much as you could.'

He shook his head and dropped his voice to a whisper. 'He wet himself, Aunt Cissy, and cried because it embarrassed him. I wish I hadn't seen it. It hurt him that I saw it.'

'That happens sometimes, darling. Did you help him feel better?'

'I tried. I held his hands. He was afraid.'

'It's all right to be afraid. He's not now, though, darling. He's well and whole, and he doesn't hurt anymore.'

Anu dropped his head and sniffled. Viktor, out of Anu's line of sight, raised one of his impressive brows and Narcissa shook her head once. She'd take care of this and they'd discuss it later.

'Anu, hush. It's all right.' George sniffed the air and then slithered over, eyes like jet beads. He coiled Anu's wrist and came upward, tongue darting like a needle.

The other two made hasty excuses and found reasons to leave their youngest with Narcissa for some much-needed comfort. She was more than happy to give it; she loathed that the children had seen any of this, let alone the need to deal with it now. At her gentle prompting Anu laid down, head resting in her lap, and cried, shoulders shaking. George curled up so his head was by the boy's ear, hissing a low reassuring hiss.

Finally he'd wept himself out and raised his head, deeply abashed, drying his eye. 'Sorry, Aunt Cissy.'

'Shh, you were fine. Do you feel better?'

'I feel silly. I shouldn't cry like this.'

'Why not?'

'I'm not a baby.'

'Of course you aren't. You're mature enough to know to deal with things rather than pretend not to be bothered. That isn't something a child does.'

'No?'

'No.' She rubbed his back gently and he sighed, comforted. 'Would it be all right if I went and found Sirius?'

'I think that would be a good idea. He would like to help you feel better.' She pecked his cheek and he grinned, pecked back and took off out the door, calling for Goose. She was glad for the twin comforts of her younger cousin and the big, dim dog. Little slices of normality like that might make the difference between mental health later in life and serious problems, if it wasn't already too late.

Too late...she raised her little snake to her lips and brushed a kiss on his skull. 'Let's go and find Draco, love.' George hissed agreeably and off they went.

In a roundabout way, that's how she ended up with her sister and niece in the field, within easy eyeshot of Castle Krum. From the corner of her eye, she could see a wolf watching the goings-on emotionlessly, face unreadable.

_'Cissy, are you sure?'_

_'Of course I'm sure, Trixie. If it's too much I'll go and sit.'_

She was glad the boys had opted not to come. Hermione had certainly offered, but there was a clear undercurrent there, that strange energy that Narcissa had sensed earlier.

Draco had asked to stay behind to mind Anu, whom, he suspected, would want to talk, and Viktor had agreed. He looked a little too sallow for Narcissa's liking; was he struggling with the idea of Grindelwald's teaching Hermione? She resolved to ask, and cupped his cheek gently before she left just in case.

So the three ladies, and the little adder, were preparing to put the theory Grindelwald had been giving Hermione into practice. Narcissa swallowed.

_'If I think things are out of control, I will stop the duel.'_

_'Cissy, it will be fine.'_

_'I mean it, I want both of you to swear to me.'_

_'Fine.'_

_'I swear, Aunt Cissy.' _Hermione was bright-eyed, cheeks flushed as though she were at a ball or a party. Narcissa choked down the urge to demand this be stopped, that they go back and forget this whole terrible idea, pretend her niece had no need of this knowledge. But she couldn't, so she would referee, and she would hope.

The two ladies walked ten paces, bowed, waited a second, the energy crackling about them, the sense of something waiting to be unleashed. Narcissa took a step back and then it had started.

Bellatrix was not holding back. She sent the first hex, and Hermione countered it, shielding herself, and then rocks were flying through the air, a shower of small sharp rocks that Bellatrix repelled with a savage thrust of her wand.

_'Good, girl. Do it again with bigger rocks.'_

Hermione obeyed, and this time she spun them. The rocks whistled as they fell, bouncing off Bellatrix's shield a bit harder this time. Hermione had already fired again, ducking as her mother flung a curse back at her.

_'Again, girl. Don't be afraid, you shan't hurt me.'_

Hermione took her at her word. This time it was a shower, dust and rocks the size of a person's head, and then more spells that Bellatrix had to work a little to fend off. She was firing at Hermione as well, and Hermmione took the first injury, a cutting spell that grazed her cheek.

She ignored it, and lashed out with a thin stream of pure flame. Bellatrix caught it with her own wand and pulled, twisting. Hermione's wand jerked in her hand and then Narcissa felt a sharp gust of air, cool and sudden, and shivered as the energy, once held in check, exploded.

Hexes and spells were flying too quickly to be seen. Narcissa had a sense of something huge and dangerous and beautiful in it's wildness, a terrible power being flung back and forth like a boulder between the two.

It stopped seemingly by mutual accord. Hermione was bruised and bleeding, but smiling for it all the same. She came almost shyly to where her mother was waiting and looked at the ground.

_'Was I all right?'_

Bellatrix's response was to touch her face, all fierce joy, eyes squinting. Hermione squinted back, grinning, and Narcissa touched them both and was terribly afraid for them.

After a picnic lunch, Bellatrix announced she was taking a quick walk by herself. Elf (and wolf) in tow, she stomped heartily in a random direction, singing softly but off-key to herself.

Narcissa laid back on the blanket and looked at the canopy the elves had erected to shade them from the sun. _'How are you, my darling?'_

Hermione's response was to rest her head on Narcissa's shoulder and say nothing for a moment. It was that sort of day, reflected Narcissa as she tugged her niece's scarf aside to stroke her hair.

_'Your hair is shorter.'_

_'It got singed by the dragon fire.'_

_'I am glad I was not there for that.'_

_'Everyone says that.'_

_'I would have liked to have been there to support you, but the idea of that dragon being so close to my darling girl gives me shivers.' _She kept stroking, and Hermione murmured, soaking up the love and affection.

_'It was wonderful. The magic was extraordinary.'_

_'So is yours, but it makes me nervous. Draco was absolutely worried about the whole thing.'_

_'I told him not to be.'_

Narcissa kept smoothing her hair, pleased when Hermione yawned. _'Mmm, that's so nice, Aunt Cissy.'_

_'Shhhhh. Shhhhh.'_

_'I'm not sleepy.'_

_'I am sleepy.'_

_'Professor Snape used to say that to me.'_

_'Did he?'_

_'Mmm hmmm.' _Dear Severus, pretending as hard as he could that he didn't adore Hermione and the others. She shook her head indulgently, imagining how cute a scene it must have been and then kept soothing her niece with her touch.

_'Aunt Cissy?'_

_'Mmm?'_

_'When you make a Patronus, do you have trouble finding a memory to use?'_

_'I've never made one.'_

_'Neither have I. The boys can do it.'_

_'Can they?'_

_'Not Anu, yet, but Viktor works with him a few times a week. He's close.'_

_'You aren't succeeding yet?'_

_'All I conjure are blobs of light.'_

_'Perhaps it's a mouse Patronus.'_

Hermione shook her head, gnawing her lip. _'I wish it was. A mouse would be better than a blob.'_

_'You're having trouble finding a good memory to use?'_

_'Most of my good memories make me sad. Either they remind me of-people-or they've got Rinky in them or something awful happened right after that taints it.'_

_'Let's think of some that aren't, then. You've made some here, I would think.'_

_'It can't be distracting.'_

_'Distra...Hermione Bellatrix.'_

_'Some of them are.'_

_'Hmmph_' said Narcissa, giving her niece a playful swat. She knew precisely what Hermione meant, though, so she allowed herself a chuckle and then went back to work mentally.

_'Tell me one and we'll see if it won't help.'_

Hermione rolled on her side, face wrinkling in thought. _'Do you remember the night we had that reception for my in-laws?'_

_'I do.'_

_'I'd had trouble sleeping the night before. I told Mother and she laid down with me to help me nap. It was nice.'_

Narcissa made an encouraging noise and stroked her niece's hair. _'Good, Hermione. Do you remember how it made you feel?'_

_'Safe. Loved. She cuddled me until I could sleep and when I woke up she was with me and so was Father. He rubbed my back and told me a story about when he was small.'_

_'Was it a good time?'_

_'It was. I like cuddling.'_

_'They like to cuddle you._'

Hermione sat up and then half-ran to the centre of the field. She closed her eyes, inhaled and pointed her wand. 'Expecto Patronum!'

A ball of light shot out and resolved into an animal as Narcissa watched. Long graceful legs, a neck like a queen's, big eyes as gentle as a cloud. A doe, she thought, as the creature took a few dainty steps and vanished into the trees.

She heard singing and stomping. _'Hermione? What was that?'_

_'I did it, Mother! Aunt Cissy helped me and I did it!'_

_'Girl?'_

_'It was my Patronus. I did it!'_

Bellatrix sagged all over. _'Good girl, Hermione!'_

_'She was beautiful.'_

_'Yes, she was.'_

Bellatrix embraced her daughter and Narcissa came to hug them both. There were tears in her eyes, and when she looked down, in Bellatrix's. Trixie lowered her head and wiped the tears rapidly but they were there all the same, tracking down her cheeks even as she laughed a little, overcome.

As though joining in, George raised his head and hissed, and then slithered onto her shoulders to bask in the summer sun.


	65. Chapter 65

**A/N; Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Special thanks to my friend J for hosting me during the hurricane and helping me move into my new apartment. We spent six days with no power, including AC. I was fortunate to have both his hospitality and the company of his elderly cat, Fizzgig, a Crookshanks type if there ever was one. My deepest appreciation to them both.**

False-Mulciber carefully shaded the owl's wing with a touch more silver and then set down the brush, which was very fine, just a few delicate selkie hairs set in an ebony handle.

The owl, poised in mid-spring, beak open in a feral cry, was painted on fine parchment. It was a birthday gift for Alecto, and false-Mulciber thought she would like it very much.

An elf handed over a small glass of clear water and he swished the brush in it to clean it, selected a slightly thicker one, and started on the chest, carefully dabbing on shades of deeper grey.

'Master?'

'Yes?'

'Master Alf Crabbe to see you.'

False-Mulciber nodded and motioned for the elf to show Crabbe in. He was a hulking, flat-faced man with huge knotty hands and a hard voice. He was carrying a bottle which proved to have some good cider (the Crabbes owned a few small orchards, and Alf brewed his own to share with friends), and the two drank amicably for some time in pleasant near silence.

'Godfather' said Alf finally (Mulciber had three godchildren; Evan Rosier had died, of course) 'Snape sent me to see you. He said we might have things to discuss.'

'Did he?'

'He says Eileen sends her regards.'

That was the signal. 'Walk with me, Alfie.'

His joints screamed protest, especially his ankles. Alf glowered down at him from his great height, almost as tall as his cousin Goyle's. 'You promised to get that looked at last time.'

'I did, aye.'

'Well?'

'Just the rheumatism, lad. The pain killers make it too hard to paint.'

Alf glowered harder but let it go for the moment. 'Yes, well.'

Mulciber's house was small but lushly appointed, all brocades and rich woods. The elves kept it gleamingly clean and smelling of papier d'arminie, and false-Mulciber caught whiffs of toothsome smells from the kitchen, roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and a large dish of peas.

'Stay for dinner, Alf?'

'Thank you, Godfather, but Ollie's made me promise we'll visit her sister in Aberdeen tonight.'

'How is Griselda?'

'Expecting again. I've told Arnold they know what causes that now, but he doesn't seem to get it.' Both men snorted slightly ribald laughter at the prolific in-laws and then, once they were out of earshot of the Floo, and in the rooms the elves checked daily, the real work could begin.

'What news, Alfie?'

Alf sat heavily, shaking his head. 'They're bringing wolves to guard the capital tomorrow.'

'How many?'

'A thousand to start, and more coming once the digging's done. Then the other cities once that's in place.'

'Greyback's boys?' False-Mulciber's mouth twisted to show what he thought of Greyback's handpicked coterie of maniacs. Alf nodded, dry-scrubbing his hands absently.

'For the Ministry, mostly. They want to make sure that the Bulgarians don't get anything if it comes to that.'

'Are they destroying records?'

'Not yet.' Alf reached into his pocket and pulled out a small dense bundle of papers. 'I copied what I could.'

'What is it?'

Alf looked grim. 'Travers' marching orders, plans for deploying the...he's calling it the wonder weapon.'

False-Mulciber snorted helplessly. 'You're teasing me, Alfie.'

'Not a bit. Maps of the tunnels, too, and call-ups for aurors and things like that.'

False-Mulciber took the bundle. He would pass these papers to Snape and Snape would funnel them to the children overseas. Another piece falling into place like dominoes, he thought, not quite sure how he felt about that. Glad, of course, but all those children at Hogwarts worried him terribly.

'You've done the right thing, Alfie, coming to me. I will talk to my contacts and we will find a way to use what you've given us.'

Alf looked at the ground. 'I feel like shit about all this. I took an oath, damn it!'

False-Mulciber wondered if he'd have to kill the man to keep his silence. He hoped not. 'He voided our oaths when he started this war, Alfie.'

'I know that. And those muggles. God alone knows I've got no use for muggles, but those weren't hurting us. I supervised the crew they sent in.' He shuddered.

'Now we might make up for it.'

'I don't think so, Godfather. I think we're damned for letting this happen.'

'We didn't let it happen. We're trying to stop it.'

Alf looked grim. 'Be damned if I don't try, anyways.'

False-Mulciber clapped his meaty shoulders and soothed him a bit more, but the papers burnt in his pocket like the beating of a heart. Winter was coming, he could feel it in his bones. Winter was coming, and the storm that washed over Wizarding Britain would be terrible indeed.

In another place entirely, another person was thinking much the same. Alise Scabior circled her husband warily, shoulders well back, watching him for signs he was preparing to spring.

He feinted and she drew back rather than forward, ducking and trying to trip him. He dodged away and then sprang for real, nearly knocking her off her feet. Alise danced back by the skin of her teeth and swung her fist, which connected solidly with his ear, stunning him a moment.

A very short moment, as he was back on his feet in seconds and prepared for round two. He got her down this time but she eeled out from under him, sinking her teeth into his hand.

Lem yelped, his other hand tangling in her hair, drawing her head back hard. Alise balled up her fist and directed it at the back of his knee, which buckled. She tore her head free, leaving a handful of dark hairs in his fist, and tried to get up again.

Lem was on her. She twisted, knee flailing for his groin. He was laughing, and so was she, feeling alive, burning with vitality, and filled with a kind of warm affectionate pleasure. She wouldn't call it love quite yet, but it was close, and she relaxed into it, even as she, desperate, smashed her forehead hard into his nose, bloodying it.

He kept his hold, and then the knife was in his hand, at her neck. She raised a finger, symbol for surrender, and Lem stood up and helped her to her feet. Kreacher appeared to staunch his bleeding.

Around them, several hundred aurors had fallen silent. '*_An that*' _said Lem companionably '_*is why we needs t practice brawlin. You get disarmed, yer gunna needs to know ow to fend yourself. Yeah?*_'

A noise of assent. Alise could feel fresh bruises springing up along her body. She didn't mind. She was delighted she had done so well, and so was Lem, who waited until they were barely alone to throw both arms round her, excited as a child.

_'*Gud girl, duck! That was sum fight!*'_

_'*You didn't let me almost win?*'_

_'*Not tall*.' _

Lem settled onto his hammock, sighing. In practice they went home every night, but in theory they kept quarters here with the fighters. He sighed happily, hands behind his head.

_'*What are you thinkin bout, girl?*'_

_'*Lots of things. I think they got the message, don't you?*' _

She meant the aurors. One of the major obstacles to forming any kind of coherent fighting force was the radically different approaches to literally everything on the part of the cultures that made up their army.

For every culture that considered using magic for practically everything the only refined, civilised choice, there was one that considered unnecessary use of magic effete or immoral. For every one that allowed witches to fight, there was one whose members refused to talk to women they hadn't been introduced to. It was, to say the least, complicated.

Lem nodded. '_*Finns didnt need no persuadin.*'_

That much was true. The Finns loved their knives, used them in preference to wands in close quarters, and were responsible for at least twenty-five percent of the friendly-fire incidents in camp for exactly that reason.

_'*No. I think they'll see it our way.*'_

_'*After that they will. An the lads're gunna ave sum fights s'well.*' _He meant the wolves. '_*If that doan convince em, nuthin will, duck.*'_

_'*It's not that they need convincing, I think, Lem. It's that they aren't...we need an army, not a lot of smaller forces.*'_

_'*S'why they aint gots their own officers, aint it?*'_

She nodded. He rose from the hammock and came to sit down. Their elf brought his book and a pencil. Alise sent for her own and the two of them read in companionable silence for some time.

_'*Alise?*'_

_'*Hmmm?*'_

Lem put his book down._ '*This aint ow I'd thought me life would be. You know it? Thought I'd ends up in the concern like me Da, or else runnin a gang a kids, like ol Sikes did.*'_

She nodded. _'*I thought I was a muggle until I was eleven_.*'

_'*Well, yeah, but sides that. Never thoughts I'd fight a war an marry a lady an serve nobs.*'_

_'*Are you sorry?*'_

_'*Bite yer tongue, girl. I aint sorry a bit.*'_

_'*Did you...did you think you might kill someone?*'_

Lem took her hand. _'*S'awrite to ask. I thoughts I would, yeah. E were ardly me first, Reg. I mean' _he quickly moved to reassure her _'I started werk fer ol Bill at the Fwooper's Ead pub when I were fifteen.*'_

_'*How?*'_

Lem looked misty. _'*He seen me fight a bigger lad fer sumthin and liked me style. Sides, e needed sumone lil to gets in a window sumplace. Gave me a 'ole galleon, e did. Fed Nora and Mam fer a month on that.*'_

Alise wished she knew what to say. She supposed that whatever the window was to, it belonged neither to Lem or this fellow Bill. She decided that she preferred not to know.

_'*It must have been scary, doing a thing like that.*'_

Lem snorted. '_*Naw, it were a a'venture. La'er on, it were scary, when we ad to run from them aurors, but we gots away. Spect it's because all a us looked the same t em.*' _He didn't sound bitter, just matter-of-fact and a bit amused.

_'*Ave to admit, girl, I doan minds the thought a all them gut'er rats risin up when the times comes. Mebbe the aurors'll finally be able t tell us apart, when the windows start breakin and their ole damned system falls apart.*'_

_'*I hope no one gets hurt.*'_

_'*I doan. I jus doan wants the rong people gettin hurt. No children or ol folks or nuthin. The rest of it kin burn fer all a me.*'_

_'*You know those people.*'_

_'*I do. It's rotten t the core, girl, what's bin dun to em. We kin builds it again, bet'er. But s'long as the nobs thinks they doan need t do it, they wont. Mebbe if they sees ow angry folks is, that'll learn em different.*'_

Alise called for ayran for herself and fruit juice for her husband, who made faces at drinking salted yoghurt. _'*It must be hard, though, knowing how bad it's going to get.*'_

_'*Course it is. Most of the peeple dunna git urt aint done nothin t deserve it. An it breaks me eart to think of what'll appen to them as cant leave them slums quick enough.*'_

He drank some juice. _'*But Alise, duck, this is jus one more thin, d'you see? Them nobs'll go and leave peeple like me behind t do their dyin fer em. Aint gunna su'prise me if they blocks em off sos they cant get out an crowd the nice folks as they run. Jus another service they thinks we owes em. Well, we aint.*'_

_'*Of course you don't.*'_

_'*Wunce it's dun Flower an the lad'll come in and fix it again. We kin ave a new start. Aint no kid gunna go shov'el bat toenails sixteen hour a day or stoke fires til their skin blist'ers.*'_

He tapped the spine of the book he was reading. _'*An wunce I knows ow to read gud...swear you wont laugh, now?*'_

_'*I do.*'_

'*_Gunna see if mebbe...Flower likes kids, is all. Mebbe we cud teach folks like me, and then they kin make schools fer em. The lil ones, I mean. Or anyone oo'd go. Cause readin is...wunce you kin read, yer __**sumone. **__You aint got to scale adders or cut thorns never again.*'_

Alise's eyes prickled. '_*Lem, that's lovely.*'_

_'*Naw. I jus likes to watch stuff burnin.*' _

But his own eyes were damp too, and she smiled. He was an odd fellow, her husband, savage and sentimental, violent and sensitive. She liked it.

_'*Show me how to get the knife later?*'_

Lem nodded. _'*Shure will.*'_

They read together, pleased by how things were going.

So was Sirius. He was covered in sweat and had a cut on his hand but he felt quite good, all things told. He was eating warm bread and stew. 'Sose?'

'Sirius?' They'd moved to given names after the first lesson, and it felt good to him. Felt right, he thought, and munched more bread. It was really good, chewy and crusty on top.

'Anu will be done in an hour or so. Do you mind if I come with you to pick him up?'

She shook her head. 'I'd rather you did. Some of those men are rough.'

Sirius scratched Goose's neck as the dog sighed. He missed Anu, and had taken to prowling during the day, sniffing about for him. Sirius had turned in Salazar twice to explain, but Goose, not being an Arithmancer by any means, tended to forget his explanations.

'You're doing really well at lessons, though.'

She dipped her head shyly, a fine scrim of pink darkening her cheeks. She was, Sirius thought, really very pretty in her own way. He became abruptly aware his own face felt a little warm.

Kreacher abruptly popped in with a large pitcher of violet water, and sporting a slightly deranged grin. Probably planning for the millions of children he thinks I owe him, thought Sirius sourly, and gave the grotty little toerag a glare on principle.

The elf noticed or cared not a fig. He poured the violet water and hovered, beaming encouragingly at Sose and Sirius. It was a terrifying expression on the elf's face, which was plainly made for sneers of disdain and that puckered look he got when he disapproved of something, which was basically always.

'Thank you, Kreacher.'

'Kreacher is glad to help, Master Sirius.'

'That will be all, Kreacher.'

'Kreacher's back is hurting. We don't want to go back right now.'

'Too damned bad.'

'Master Sirius! Does Mistress Sose see how terribly poor Kreacher is spoken to? Oh poor faithful Kreacher! Loyal Kreacher! Good, simple Kreacher!'

'Kreacher, damn you!'

'Master Sirius?'

Sose raised her hand to her mouth and giggled softly. 'That's funny.'

'No, he's a manky little berk. Always has been.'

Sose shook her head. 'He just worries about you. Isn't it, Kreacher?'

'Precisely so, Mistress Sose.' Kreacher made a triumphant face and disappeared, only to come back with a plate of fairy cakes dripping cream.

Sose laughed again, and nibbled a cake. 'These are good.'

'If Mistress Sose were to marry Master Sirius, Kreacher would make them every day.'

'Kreacher, damn you! Get out!'

'Kreacher is just saying.'

'Go back to the Ministry and stay there!'

That, at least, got rid of the little monster. Sose was stock-still, hands tightening convulsively on her glass. 'S-sorry. Sorry.'

'No, shhh. It's nothing you did. Kreacher is just wilful. And evil, but that's for another night.'

'I, ah...'

Sirius sighed, resolving to strangle that damned elf. 'Sose, I like you. If you permitted it, I would court you. But if you don't want it, say the word and we'll never speak of it again.'

She set down her glass. 'Yes.'

'Yes?'

'It's, ah, good. I, ah, isn't it almost time to pick up Anu?'

That decided, however awkwardly, they embarked for Varna.

A strange thing was happening within sight of Castle Krum, which is to say that dozens of frames of timber and pitch and rope had risen from the land like the excavated bones of ancient dragons. Men scurried over them adding to them, using magic to lift huge beams and secure them, warding them to keep them tight as others drove nails in, and a small team of Arthimancers mapped runes and sigils for the hull to protect the people who would ride within.

The one that most drew the eye was a trim, lethal-looking longship, just a frame for now, but speaking of danger, all achingly precise curves and gleaming sharp angles. Sirius wanted to touch it, run his hand along the sweet-smelling wood. It was a machine made for triumph, and death.

Anu was standing in a knot of men, looking very grave and even a little older. His eye-patch was askew, and Goose capered at his feet, tail wagging as he barked randomly and took off to chase various birds and rabbits flushed by the activity.

_'*Nene! Sirius! Come see!*'_

That basically answered Sirius's questions about Anu's feelings on his presence. Both adults dutifully came to see. The workers kept on. They looked like beetles, except in reverse, adding flesh to the carcass rather than the opposite.

_'*It's our flagship.*' _Anu was visibly glowing with pride as he unrolled the plans and showed them the longship the first frame would soon be.

_'*Has she got a name yet?*'_

_'*Zhivka. The one next to her is Bellatrix, then Annemarie, Narcissa, Klytemnestra, Elisaveta, Cunegarde, Walburga and Eileen.*'_

Sirius's mental eyebrows shot up but he didn't want to show it. '_*Eileen?*'_

_'*Professor Snape's mother, may she rest. And look, Nene. The last one is named for you.*'_

_'*It is?*' _

Sose looked dumbfounded, blushing violently. Anu slipped a hand into hers and nodded, proudly motioning at the ship, which was, like the person it was named for, small and easy to miss unless one looked.

_'*It's the hospital ship. I asked specially. It's all right, isn't it?*' _He looked a boy again, and Sose, teary-eyed, put her arms round him.

_'*It's wonderful.*'_

Anu, a bit abashed, stepped back and gestured. _'*It's five times that big on the inside. Viktor said I could have it how I liked. Because we can't...it's not going to be like Castle Dinev this time, Sirius. We'll have enough beds, and a hold for just potions and bandages, and holds for water and bedding and things.*'_

Sirius clapped his shoulder. '_*Good thinking. What else?*'_

_'*Ten operating cubicles, a staff of healers, and Portkeys. We can move the walking wounded back to Sofia, or wherever the closest of our cities is, to make room for more.*'_

Sirius nodded. _'*I'm impressed, kid. You've thought about this.*'_

_'*Don't want to have to write more letters.*'_

A man approached and bowed. _'*Sir, the mast is going up on the first ship.*'_

_'*Come with me?*' _

They did, and Goose, and approached the first ship, a compact little skimmer. Anu gave the nod and a team of workmen and elves pulled the tree trunk up and into place.

_'*She's beautiful.*'_

_'*We'll have two hundred of these before the summer is out.*'_

'*They aren't warships?*' The ship was lovely but small and didn't look to be heavily defended or defensible, unlike the formidable bulk of the Zhivka or the Annemarie.

_'*No, these are for moving people quickly. We'll want to get clear of the combat area and the shipwrights say this is the best way. We'll send them with an escort of heavier ships. Those are down there. I've got something even better to show you, though.*'_

He led them nimbly through a maze of ships under construction. Several times, harried-looking builders or wrights called out to him, and every time he introduced his mother and Sirius, listening solemnly to the reports he was given, answering or sending an elf to ask.

Finally they were nearly the edge of the cliffs that housed Castle Krum. From here, the finished fleet was visible, ships bobbing as far as the eye could see. Anu sighed and turned back to them.

_'*Isn't it amazing?*'_

Sirius felt Sose's hand brush his ever-so-lightly for a second. He had a feeling that 'amazing' was not the word she might have chosen. His brushed back, looking at Anu surveying the ships, and decided he agreed with Sose.

Metellus Travers rose from his bed and dressed. Rita was working late and he was quite alone, to his disgust. He put on his working robes, combed some pomade into his hair and opened the door of his flat when he heard a childish shout.

'Hello, Telemachus.'

'Hello, Mr. Travers!' Five year old Telemachus Wilson from the next flat over proudly held up a wood and paper dragon, which he released. The thing roared and flapped about, perhaps less impressive than it might have been but for the bent wing that caused it to list slightly to starboard.

'Capital.'

'Where are you going?'

'Work. Where are your parents?'

'Inside. Want to see my Daddy?'

Travers shook his head no. 'No, the Dark Lord wants to talk to me soon.'

The door opened, and Madam Wilson's head popped out. 'Oh, goodness! Metellus, I do hope that Telemachus hasn't been bothering you.' She looked slightly nervous, eyes darting a little.

'No, madam, not at all.'

She smiled a bit. 'Good, good. We were wondering...Acteon and I were planning to visit my aunt on Wednesday...'

'We'd be glad to.' Travers meant watching Telemachus for the Wilsons, who were young and had very little money.

'Thank you! We appreciate it, Metellus.'

He patted Telemachus's head lightly. 'Any time, madam. If you'll excuse me, though, duty calls.'

As he stepped back into his flat, he heard Telemachus's little piping voice. 'Mummy, Mr. Travers is going to play with the Dark Lord!'

He certainly was. Five minutes later he was handing his outer robes to an elf and bowing. 'My lord?'

The Dark Lord was staring out the window. 'Metellus, hello.'

'My lord, I have came at your lordship's command.'

The Dark Lord still didn't turn round. 'The wonder weapon, Metellus?'

'Ten thousand strong, my lord, and growing all the time.'

The Dementors were magically confined to a small island near Jersey. Travers didn't mention the increasing difficulty in keeping them confined, nor the occaisional 'slip' in security. They were feeding them political prisoners, but the supply of those was starting to run thin.

'Walden seems to think there will be a food shortage soon.'

Travers sighed silently, relieved he didn't need to bear that particular bad news. 'Yes, my lord.'

'We have devised a solution.'

'My lord?'

'Galvin seems to think the slums will be a problem. He's suggested We set up some sort of...program for feeding all the undesirables mouths. For some reason, he seems to think it would be a good idea. What do you think, Metellus?'

'I defer to your lordship's judgement.'

'Mmm, quite so. We see very little point, Ourselves, but Jonas and Mamercus concur with Galvin. It will be easier, they say, to track any nascent rebellions if we've an ear in those places.'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Frankly, We don't disagree. It solves our other problem, Metellus, doesn't it?'

'My lord?'

'You need food for Our wonder weapon. Walden and the others need to keep the populace in line. Do you see?'

Travers's inner world didn't even flicker. 'I do, my lord.'

'Excellent. Have Fenrir go and get the Bulgarian boy tonight.'

'My lord?'

'We have no doubt the bigger one and the traitor Lestrange girl are planning to spread radical notions. Perhaps We should strike first to convince them against it.'

Travers's heart rate never changed. His breathing altered not at all. 'Yes, my lord.'

They brought the boy as the moon was rising. That was fine by Metellus Travers.


	66. Chapter 66

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains a depiction of the results of a beating sustained by a child. The actual beating is not 'seen' by readers, but I'm going to bold the first and last word of the paragraph to allow readers to skip it at their discretion.  
**

Severus Snape had seen and done a lot of surreal things, but he was pretty sure this was toward the top of the list, bathing a semi-concious child in a bathtub full of snakes, as Lucius Malfoy half-mumured and half-sang a lullaby in his pleasant baritone.

'Shhh, shhh, shhh. Hail, smiling morn, smiling morn. No, shhhh, just let Nagini hold you, sweetheart. That's the boy, just close your eyes.'

The false-Ivan mumbled miserably and relaxed into Nagini's coils as Snape poured another phial into the tub. He carefully stuck a hand in to test the temperature, gently nudging an adder out of the way.

Malfoy was still singing a little. 'Ivan, hush, darling. It's all right for you to cry. Shhh, shhhh, shhhh.'

False-Ivan gave a shuddering breath. 'I am all vright.'

He didn't sound all right. His voice was hoarse, and Snape, satisfied the oils were helping to heal the disaster area currently covering most of the boy's lower body, reached for his bag and pulled out another phial. He handed it to Malfoy, who worked the cork out and carefully cupped the boy's head.

'Drink this for me, hmmm? It will help, I promise.'

To his credit, the boy was taking this with, Snape allowed grudgingly, real courage. He took the phial, whimpering as Nagini tightened a little. The massive snake raised the tip of her tail from the tub and stroked the child's damp hair. She hissed softly, totally focused on her young charge.

Snape touched her coils. 'Nagini, we will need to pull him out soon. I am going to give him something to make him sleep, and a strong pain reliever. May I take him from you?'

The snake turned her head. Her eyes were inscrutable, fangs as long as Snape's fingers flashing as she hissed. She was not, he sensed, precisely threatening him, but neither was she pleased.

'I know. After Ivan is settled, Madam Feathering-Hetty-will explain.'

The snake slowly loosened her coils, and a weeping elf appeared with a towel and wrapped the boy's fragile body in it. He murmured, eyes half closed. 'Oww.'

'Shhhh. We're going to put you down for a nice rest, love.'

Malfoy took Ivan from the elf and the three of them-four, and then more, as the snakes moved en masse with them, leaving the carpeting quite soaked- adjourned to the bedroom.

The elves had been there. A thick layer of towels had been spread to make sure the bed stayed dry, and the snakes slithered up and settled, eager to help. Lucius sat and carefully arranged the boy, gently shooing the snakes to prevent them getting laid down on.

Ivan thrashed a little, moaning with pain. 'Oh.'

'Shhhh. Just lie still, shhh.'

Snape moved the towel away. Weasley, he suspected, was well passed modesty at the moment. He had been a Potions master his whole adult life, nearly, and a Death Eater longer than that, however nominally, but even that had not quite prepared him for this.

Malfoy had not seen yet. His eyes widened, his mouth opening before it audibly snapped close. His hand went to the boy's upper back and he began to rub again, face set and hard with rage.

'Darkness flies away, flies away...'

Nagini had settled on the pillows, watching. She snapped her head forward and sniffed worriedly. Snape touched her skull crests, trying to find words for this. There weren't any.

**The welts** **went from almost the small of the boy's back** to his calves, already shading from crimson to a purple so dark it was almost black. There was no unmarked flesh to be seen, and blood glistened in places where the skin had broken. Snape could do only so much without healing him and potentially bringing Alecto down on him even harder, **but he couldn't leave him lik**e **this**.

The first step was a thick coat of pain-relieving unguents to try to bring the poor child a little relief. Snape charmed his hands and began to work the ointment in, keeping an eye on Malfoy so the man would hold the child still.

Weasley didn't stir much. Snape suspected it was exhaustion as much as anything else, even as Nagini used her tail to steady the slight motions False-Ivan was making. She was hissing too, a sound like rain.

Once that was done, the adults carefully shifted the child up and into Malfoy's lap. Malfoy held him suspended, trying to prevent the wounded part of the boy from touching anything. Snape frowned, pondering, and decided on a strong pain-potion and then a spoon of Dreamless Sleep.

'Uncle?'

'Shhhhh.'

'Uncle Galvin is good?'

'Galvin is fine, love, and you're a very kind boy to worry.'

The boy shook his head. 'Not his fault. He didn't vant to.'

'Of course he didn't.'

'Mcnair is a bad man.'

'Very bad.'

'Travers is bad.'

'Yes, he is. Snape is going to give you something to help with the pain, and then something to make you sleepy. All right?'

'Snakes vill stay?'

'The snakes and my elf Minky, all right?'

'Mmm hmm.'

They got him dosed, finally, and immediately the little body went limp, totally overwhelmed by the night's events. The elves cleared the towels and the snakes moved long enough for them to get the boy settled and then, as a group, slithered over him, protecting, hissing to soothe. Nagini, with clear reluctance, went with the men, casting glances at the little sleeper in the bed, body taut with rage.

The others were in the parlour. Galvin's massive bulk was crammed into a wingchair. His eyes were red, and he held a tumbler full of what smelt to be neat whisky in one giant hand.

'Is he...?'

'He asked after you.'

Galvin swallowed hard. 'My God.'

'What happened, Galvin?'

Galvin took a swallow of whisky. 'He summoned me at nine. They were all there. Alecto and Amycus, Jonas, Mamercus, Metellus, Walden, Augustus, Charlie Wilkes and a few others. Greyback, damn him. They were all...he thinks that he can...scare them or something, somehow, by doing this.'

'He told you to do it?'

'He had Metellus call Sofia. He got Rumen Krum on the Firecall and they...' He took another swallow of whisky.

'It was awful. I have never done a thing like this in my life. I can't keep this up. I can't.'

'You did the best you could, Galvin' said Rodolphus from his place near the window, watching for interlopers.

'No. It's not...things are falling apart, and fucked if I can stop it.'

'What did he say?'

'You remember' half the whisky was gone now 'those kitchens we talked about?'

'We do.'

'He loves the idea. But it's not...' Galvin finished the rest of the whisky in a single gulp. 'Not like you'd think. Or maybe you would. You lot are smarter than Alf and me.'

'Galvin?'

'He wants to use them as, as cattle. To feed those fucking things he's got. Fucking wonder weapon my arse, it's an abomination.'

Snape shook his head a little to clear it. 'He means to use the kitchens as a...a source of food for the Dementors?'

'Yes.' An elf appeared with a decanter and Galvin took the refill eagerly. He wasn't registering any effects from the alcohol. He could drink all of them under the table at the best of times, and this was not the best of times.

Rodolphus stood up. 'Hetty, is it a good idea for you to listen to this?'

'I'm fine, I'm sure.' Nagini had come to coil her, and sat, tail lashing, taking it all in. She put her head up and held forth for some time. Snape watched Galvin as the Feathering woman opened her mouth and hissed back.

'What'd she say, madam? The snake?'

'Nagini is very upset. She's quite protective of children, especially Ivan since the others have...gone. She's going to send some of her little snakes to see what the Hogwarts snakes have to say about it. And the others. She's a lot of them.'

'She's her own private army of snakes, then?'

The woman smiled a little. 'Rather. Our Nagini is quite determined when she feels strongly about an issue.'

Galvin set down his glass and very slowly extended a hand. Nagini moved like liquid darkness, slithering to him, sniffing.

'I never wanted to hurt him like that. Never.'

Nagini's head darted back and she bared her fangs, hissing. Galvin never flinched, hardly moved at all, and the snake subsided, the very tip of her tail still twitching.

'She believes you. She can smell deceit, you know.'

Galvin nodded. 'So can Custard. Our kneazle quean, I mean.'

Nagini hissed a bit more. The Feathering woman came to join her. She was just beginning to show, little round belly moving gently as she walked.

'Nagini says we need a plan.'

Snape nodded. 'Does she, perchance, have one, madam?'

'As it happens, she does.'

'Does it involve Galvin eating the Dark Lord?'

'It does. She's made me promise to tell you of it.'

'Our thanks, surely.'

Nagini growled, eyes narrowing. She hissed for a few moments, staring intently at Galvin.

'It's rather a work in progress, I would say, convincing her that we can't do that.'

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, wondering what his life was coming to when he was asking snakes for advice.

In Bulgaria, a bit of Nagini's advice would have lightened the mood considerably in Nicolae Pavel's opinion. He was in a disused corridor of the Ministry, reflecting on how things had gone from bad to worse to disastrous in the span of about twenty minutes.

Beside him, Lemuel Scabior was sitting very still, fists clenched tightly.

Pavel turned slowly, eyeing him. He looked like he wasn't quite sure that Pavel would not spring, and not in fun. Pavel held his gaze levelly, trying to inject a hint of Alpha into it.

Scabior's voice was soft. 'It aint rite, is all I'm sayin.'

'I know that, but violence is not the answer.'

'Since when, I asks you?'

Pavel shook his head and sat down. 'We aren't ready, Lem, and you know it .'

Scabior sagged a little, and nodded, swallowing. 'I do knows it.'

Pavel put an arm round his shoulders. 'We know you'd stop it if you could.'

Scabior's head went down and he bit his lip a second. 'It aint rite. It aint.'

'No' agreed Pavel sadly, and shook his head to try to clear it of the day's horror.

The two men had been in the office when the problems started, with Rumen Krum, his brother, and the children, discussing various security issues and problems they were having with the camps.

The Floo had hissed, and Metellus Travers' bland face had popped through. 'Hello, all.'

'Mr. Travers. To what do we owe the...pleasure?' Pavel had held back a snort; he couldn't help himself, he **liked **Penko Krum. And hated Travers, but that was a more personal thing. He fought the urge to growl low in his belly and hung back.

'His lordship would speak to the Lord Protector and Vicereine, and also Rumen Krum. Is that possible?'

'It is.'

The Dark Lord himself was the next head to pop up. He was in his true form, young face twisted with rage.

'Britain has discovered that Bulgaria has signed accords with Romania. Something about dragons? Is what We hear accurate?'

The girl was smiling a little. 'It would hard to say, my lord. What precisely do you hear?'

The Dark Lord's head snapped back. 'We were talking to the Lord Protector.'

The girl's lips whitened and she stepped back to give Krum room. Krum looked even angrier, and smelt hot and a little feral himself. His anger was interesting, laced with the potential for violence which he crammed down hard within himself. Pavel gestured with his eyes at Scabior, who barely nodded. They'd intervene if need be but hopefully need wouldn't be.

'My lord? You have given some offence to my lady wife.'

'We see no reason to involve a woman in affaires of state when men might better serve.'

'I was not aware a beard was a prerequisite for service to one's country.'

The Dark Lord said nothing for a moment, lips curled in disgust. Then his eyes narrowed a bit, head back. 'We thought to have a civil discussion on matters with you, but perhaps an object lesson would better serve Our designs.'

He turned and said something. Pavel could smell others in the room, amongst them Fenrir Greyback. Now he did growl, very, very softly, ducking behind the desk so no one would see him.

Then he shot straight back up again, as a terrible loud crack echoed clearly from the other side, and a shrill childish scream rang out. And again. And again.

'Stop it! Stop it!'

'Ivan? What are you doing?'

Rumen was either a hell of an actor or had genuinely forgot, in the heat of the moment, that his son was in Pernik for the day. He lurched upright, beard shaking with rage. 'What are you doing to my son?'

The Dark Lord was grinning. 'We thought perhaps you might understand Us more clearly this way.'

The sounds intensified, the screams getting higher and higher. Scabior was white in the face, fists knotted, and then he lunged for the Floo, hand going to his waist and the knife he kept sheathed there.

Pavel dropped him, tackling him to the floor and pinning him down. 'No, Lem!'

Scabior fought him. 'Lemme up, lemme up!'

'You can't help him!'

'Is that Pavel? Motherfucker, I'm coming for you!'

Greyback. Pavel could smell his overpowering stench even as he crouched, making sure Scabior couldn't hurt himself trying to get at the people on the other side of the Floo.

Krum slammed his fist hard on the mantle. 'ENOUGH! THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!'

'The things you have done to Us are an outrage!'

'What things?'

'Dragons! You're trying to suborn Us with dragons!'

'That's insane!'

'Our spy doesn't think so!'

'Spy?'

'Walden Mcnair is in constant contact with Aurelien Morreau, and he assures Us you've got dragons now!'

Silence. Had he really just blurted that out? Even the screaming had stopped, thankfully. Lem went still under him, eyes widening.

'Gerroff now, Nic, yeah?' Pavel was so startled he didn't even react to the nickname, just rolled off and crawled out of sight.

Pavel had no sooner stood than he felt the magic buffering him like he was standing in a wind tunnel. The door slammed closed behind him and he pressed against the wall, just trying to keep his head down.

Papers were flying about them, swooping and churning wildly in whorls and loops. As Pavel watched, an inkwell rose and smashed against a wall, sending fingers of ink dripping toward the carpet.

Her voice came close to breaking the spell. Almost, but not quite. She sounded very clear, like a bell's peal on a still day. 'My lord, you have gone too far.'

Next to her, the Dark Lord's voice was peevish and little, a child arguing with a much older adult. 'You don't scare Us!'

'No?'

She didn't even turn round, but her wand flicked, almost lazily, and the windows blew inward with a huge and terrible shattering and hung suspended, until they started to move as the papers had, first slowly and then spinning faster and faster until they were going too quickly to be seen, until they were mere spinning flashes.

Another flick, and the glass came together, all the shards hovering directly behind the Vicereine's head, deadly and lovely to behold.

'You don't scare Us!' His voice broke a little on the last word; he reeked of deception. And fear, bright and hot and white.

'So you've said, my lord.' A third flick and the glass fell with a musical tinkling and broke there on the carpet.

The Floo connexion cut off abruptly. The Vicereine stood up, straightening her shoulders. 'Have it sealed against them and call the others.'

The elves came and fixed the windows as the office filled. Rumen Krum summarised what had happened in a calm, flat voice that shook only slightly. When the real Ivan came in, his father scooped him up and held him in a bear-hug, shoulders shaking.

'Papa?'

'It's all right, Ivan. It's all right.'

Ivan's arms went round his father's neck in a hug. Pavel could sense the boy's intuitive leap that something terrible had happened. He snuggled into his father and laid still, comforting by being comforted.

Krum came and picked up his other cousin, who touched his face, brow wrinkling. 'Did something bad happen?'

'Yes, it did.'

'Is the Dark Lord being naughty again?'

'He is.'

'Can't we make him stop?'

'We're trying, Yana.'

She nodded gravely. 'I know you can fix this, Viktor. We should ask Aunt Zhivka, though. She makes things happen. Can Drago take me later?'

Malfoy came to take her from Krum. 'We'll see, Yana.'

Once the children had been sent with an elf, the adults set to working on things.

'We can't do anything.' Kask stated the issue right out, as was his wont. It sent a kind of small charge through them, a negative one. It sucked the air from the room for a moment, as they breathed the knowledge of their own inability to fix this right now.

Krum was nodding, eyes dark. 'Paavo is right. Our plans hinge on delaying the invasion until the troops are ready.'

'So we do nothing?' This from Sirius Black, who sounded less disgusted than tired and infinitely sad. He looked at the ground, knowing the answer, smelling of despair.

'What else can we do?' Malfoy, between his cousin and their respective mothers, sleeves rolled. His Mark was very dark against his skin, like an accusation.

'There has to be something. Send a wolf or three. Send me, for God's sake, I'll do it. We can't just leave that kid to get the shite-sorry-pounded out of him. They'll beat him to death if this keeps up.'

'What about our parents? Hermione's father and mine are still there, and Uncle Rabastan and Aunt Eugenia, Aunt Hetty and the old people at Feathering. Can you pull them all out safely?'

Black shook his head. 'Probably not.'

'So what's our alternative, exactly? We pull him out and blow our covers, and everyone else's. What then, Sirius? What do we do next?'

'I don't know, but-'

'But what? We're stuck. We can't help Weasley and we can't move the invasion up, and we can't do anything that will hurt the family in Britain. So what can we do, Sirius? By all means, if you've got an answer, tell us what it is.'

Black shook his head. 'It's terrible to think of leaving him there.'

Malfoy went even paler. 'For God's sake, you're telling **us** that? You think we don't know what we've sent him to? You think we won't hear this tonight as we sleep? Everyone gets to shake their heads and sigh, but who the hell will get the write the letter if they do beat him to death? It's not you!'

The girl moved quickly. She was abruptly in front of him, hugging him. He dropped his face into her shoulder for a moment and sighed deeply. The girl murmured something and Malfoy turned without another word and left.

'We know you meant well, Sirius.'

'Thank you, darling.'

Black looked after his cousin and smelt deeply worried. Pavel felt a little concern in his own chest-Malfoy was suffering, and none of them could seem to alleviate it. Hopefully this mind healer would help. If Malfoy would let him in, and that was the problem.

There was a bit more going round about things, but ultimately Malfoy had had the right of it. In Pavel's experience, he usually had. Weasley was stuck, and so were the rest of them.

After, Pavel elected to follow Scabior, who had a dangerous smell about him. Pavel watched as the man went into the disused corridor and kicked a wall, once, twice, three times, and then hopped a bit, swearing, toes mashed.

'Lem?'

'Ello, Nicolae.'

Pavel nodded. 'Take a walk with me?'

'Awrite.' Scabior smelt like rage and like hurt and hot orange frustration. This, at least, was something Pavel could help with. He couldn't help the poor bastard in England and he couldn't help Malfoy, but perhaps he could help Scabior a bit.

So that's what Pavel did.

In Britain itself, at Feathering, Eugenia adjusted the charm that encased her nose and mouth (as stage dressing; the old people were hale as they could be) and smiled as Uncle Erasmus patted her hand.

'My dear, I am so glad to see you. We have missed you, Gardie and me. And your son, isn't it?'

'Edric is in Bulgaria, Uncle, remember?'

'Ah, yes, of course. With that nice young man and Rabastan's little girl.'

'Viktor and Hermione, yes. Hermione is Rodolphus's, not Rabastan's, Uncle.'

'That's right. Klytemnestra's granddaughter, is the point.'

'Of course it is.'

Erasmus smiled toothlessly, reminding her a bit of Kreacher. 'I've misplaced my dentures, but Gardie doesn't mind. Do you suppose she'll have me?'

'You mean to...propose to her, Uncle?'

'Are you worried about your inheritance? Don't be, we're too old to have children, I believe. Still, I expect we shall try.'

Eugenia's mouth moved in shock, trying desperately not to picture that. 'I believe she will be thrilled, Uncle.'

'I think so as well. I've been married three times...or perhaps four, I can't recall. But for the first time since Clothilde went before me, I am happy.'

Eugenia pecked his cheek, wishing she could nudge aside her charm. He smiled again, seemingly more lucid than he'd been in a long time.

'You will see your son again, my dear, I have no doubt. Do you think so?'

'I...I pray every day that we will.'

Erasmus nodded, eyes bright under the film of cataracts. 'I think you shall. Do you know why?'

'Why, Uncle?'

'Because if two old people like Gardie and myself might find happiness again, then anything is possible. And we are a lucky people. Do you know the story of your uncle Ruprecht, my older brother?'

'I don't.'

The Floo hissed and Eugenia leapt up, wand in hand. Dolores Umbridge's repulsive, toad-like face came through a second before the rest of her did, swathed in rash-coloured pink cotton with a little-girl bow in her hair.

'Mr. Feathering! Madam Lestrange, how good to see you.'

'Niece, who is this woman, and why is she in my house?'

'I'm sure I don't know, Uncle. Shall I ask her?'

'Please do.'

Eugenia's hatred was a low throbbing beat in her ears, like her own heart. 'Madam Umbridge, how may we help you?'

'Just thought I would check in. How is everyone doing with their...mysterious skin conditions?'

'Fine, I'm sure.'

'I was speaking to Mr. Feathering!'

Uncle Erasmus cocked his head. 'We're fine, madam. I've good news for the Ministry, however.'

She bent toward him like a huge and rotten flower, smiling a sly little smile. 'Yes?'

'I've found my hat! Panky, fetch my hat to show madam.'

A decrepit elf appeared with the top hat, holding it ceremonially in shaking hands. Umbridge's smile fell like a dropped cake. 'How wonderful.'

'I shall send it for the snake. She quite like hats, I'm given to understand.'

'So you've not heard from the Bulgarians?' Umbridge ignored the remark about hats.

'I should say not. Young people don't write like they used to. When I was their age...was I ever their age? I can't recall but I must have been. I was not born old, surely?'

'No, Uncle, you were not born old.'

'How nice to hear that. I do seem to remember having had hair at some point. To rest that hat on, I don't wonder.'

'Of course.' Umbridge looked not merely annoyed but actively irked. 'One does wonder whether a person mightn't catch skin diseases like that from...outside influences. Englishmen are clean and rarely have that sort of problem.'

Erasmus blink. 'Have you just implied that Martin's son and the little girl aren't clean?'

'Have you seen them?'

'I have not! Get out! Those children are cleaner than yourself! They don't reek of perfume, at least!'

Umbridge stood up, face red under a thick layer of powder. 'You will rue this!'

Eugenia thought nothing of it. Umbridge had threatened before. She took the hat to Nagini and went home.

Three days later aurors seized Lucius for treason, and took him to Azkaban.


	67. Chapter 67

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers**

**A PSA from Madea: Friends, we have been cruelly lied to. Which is to say, that I was always of the impression that roosters crow twice, at dawn, and then spend their day cutely scratching and pecking seed, and generally being unobtrusive and picturesque. **

** Not so. My roommate practices the urban farming of chickens, and everything you've ever read in children's books about happy little roosters is a damned lie. Firstly, they crow throughout the day, multiple times, in a voice that sounds like a cat and an octopus having a fist-fight whilst playing a violin. Secondly, this happens randomly, so every time one settles down for some peace and quiet, a series of these hideous noises abruptly cut through the stillness, causing one to jump from one's own skin.  
**

** Not that I have strong feelings, y'all. Nope, not all.  
**

Sirius Black was not having a very good day. He felt bad he'd upset Draco, worse about the Weasley kid, who'd seemed like quite a nice fellow to him, and deeply concerned about the situation in Britain, which was, despite everything, his country.

He was confiding it all to Sose over tea, her elf hovering above them, Kreacher at his own elbow. The elves were, Sirius sensed uncomfortably, caballing against the humans in the matter of their perhaps marrying.

'When will they invade, do you think?'

'Months at minimum. We need to get the troops trained and the rest of the ships built, for one. And work out solutions to various diplomatic problems.'

'France?'

'France.'

Sirius covered his eyes with his hand a moment. He was dreading dealing with the French in this, all the more because their allegiance was tenuous at best. Sirius had the sense that Morreau was scared of them, but could his fear of the Dark Lord not overcome it in a moment of extremis?

'Nene?'

'Hello, Anu. Come in.'

'I'm not interrupting?'

'No, of course not.'

'We need some pain potion. Drago's got a migraine again.'

Sose sent for one, and touched her son's arm. 'Is he all right? Drago?'

'He's tired. And sad, I think. It's wearing on him.'

'It's wearing on all of us, kiddo, but what can we do?'

Anu shook his head, rubbing his ear where the string of his eyepatch rested. He had a callus there now. 'Nothing. We're stuck.'

'We are.'

Sirius had never been an especially eager student, but he did remember his classical history. Had Caesar, faced with the muddy, churning Rubicon, felt as trapped as he did at that moment, the walls closing in, every other path closing one by one until all that's left was this final desperate thing, the only option, after all?

'If no one minded, I should like to bring it to him.'

'Barty is in there, though.' Barty couldn't know about Sirius-as good as his intentions were, it was a risk they couldn't afford to take.

'Would you distract him for me?'

Sose stood up, bones creaking a bit. 'I'll do it.'

The three of them trooped down the corridor, Sirius in dog form with the phials in a small bag in his mouth. When the door opened, Draco half-lifted his head, skin a bluish-white from pain, and Barty beside him, holding his hand.

'Hello, Aunt Sose. Anu. Salazar.' Draco squeezed his eyes shut and groaned through clenched teeth. Sirius wondered why Narcissa was not here and resolved to ask once Draco felt well enough.

'Barty, I thought I saw a mouse in my solar. Would you help me look?'

Barty frowned, forehead creasing. He looked older, more adult, this way. 'Draco's not well, though, Sose.'

'It's all right, Barty. I'll be here when you get back.'

'Let me help you with the potions, at least, Draco, all right?'

Draco agreed, and the pain drained from his face as he settled back, muscles relaxing. Barty took another moment to fluff the pillows and tug the duvet up and then, shoulders back, went manfully off to deal with the mouse.

Draco's eyes were big and unfocused. 'Sirius?'

'Hello, kiddo. How do you feel?'

'Better now. Everything...is everything all right?'

'You tell me.'

Sirius sat down next to his cousin, testing his forehead. Cool and clammy. He smelt like pain and fear, a little. 'I'm sorry about earlier.'

'S'all right. You didn't...this whole thing is shite. We had to...we can't...fuck, Sirius, they really could kill him, couldn't they?'

'Yeah, kid.'

'Even the Dark Lord wouldn't...what do we do?' A few tears leaked from under Draco's closed eyelids. His hands reached for air, and Sirius slipped one into his.

'There's nothing, kiddo, like you've said. We can't risk everyone's cover. And Ron knew what he was buying.'

'Didn't.'

'We told him.'

'He's fifteen, Sirius.'

'So are you.'

'Like all hell.'

'I know.' Sirius squeezed his hand gently. 'Kiddo, you have all done so well.'

More tears leaked from under the kid's eyelids. 'Then why can't we help Weasley? I'm afraid for him, and I can't tell anyone about it.'

'You can tell me.'

'And Barty.'

'Barty understands?'

'Barty knows what feeling helpless is like.'

Sirius nodded, unseen. 'Kreacher, a cold cloth, please. And some broth, Draco needs to drink some.'

'Can't.'

'If it doesn't stay down I'll leave you be.'

It did stay down. Draco's pain was almost gone now. He let Kreacher prop him up on pillows, face almost it's normal hue.

'I hope I didn't take you from anything.'

'Not at all.'

Draco raised a brow. 'No?'

'Hush.'

They both laughed a bit, and Draco raised himself further. 'I need to get up.'

'Kiddo...'

'I left the Ministry rather abruptly. They might need me.'

'I can't convince you to sleep a bit more?'

'No. I'd like to see Mother, too.'

'I'm surprised she consented to stay behind.'

'She almost didn't. I had to insist.'

Draco skinned back into his tunic and donned his high boots. 'I couldn't...it's...'

'You couldn't deal with too many people at once?'

'No. And it's different with Barty.'

'And Goose?'

'Especially Goose. Is he as simple as he seems?'

'He's no one's idea of a scholar, but he's definitely got a good heart.'

'That's a commodity these days.'

Draco was walking toward the Floo in the Hall, Sirius at his side, when he dropped. He was bantering with his cousin and then, a second later, fell, writhing and screaming in pain.

Sirius flung himself down, grabbing Draco's head through pure instinct. Draco was convulsing as though Cruciated, head back, muscles locking and unlocking, right hand clutching his left arm with hysterical tightness.

'Kreacher!'

Kreacher appeared and helped Sirius steady Draco, making sure he didn't smash into the stone corner of the hearth. What the fuck had happened?

Sirius registered footsteps but disregarded them until someone clamped down on his arm. 'It's his Mark. We need to put him in bed. It'll pass but it hurts.'

Sirius scooped his cousin up and followed Barty Crouch Jr back into the innards of the castle, wondering how this could possibly play out.

Barty had felt it too. The bolt of Dark magic, like a strike of lightening on a tree. He'd staggered to his feet, arm numb and aching deep in the bone, and ran toward the Hall, wanting to check on Draco, knowing that the lad would be feeling it as well. Behind him, Anu was calling him, but he couldn't stop, and just ran harder.

Draco was lying on his back, muscles cramping ruthlessly. It would get worse before it better. Barty gently moved the strange man holding Draco's head aside.

'It's his Mark. We need to put him in bed. It'll pass but it hurts.'

The man lifted Draco with Kreacher's help and the three, with the Tamms behind them, took Draco to the closest bed and laid him in it. He was still screaming, a horrible shrill cry of agony. Barty's nails dug into his palms without his quite knowing why, and he shoved away a memory which was bubbling through his consciousness like a surfacing whale.

Kreacher opened Draco's tunic. 'We need to get his clothes off of him, Kreacher. They'll start to hurt him soon. Winky! Help Kreacher, won't you?'

She would, and soon they'd stripped Draco to just his singlet and smalls. He stopped convulsing for a moment, as though the worst had passed, but then the vomiting started. Barty reached over to guide him from his own puddle as the elves started to clean the bed, and then took a flannel from Winky to sponge Draco's face and chest as gently as he could, mindful of how much Draco was hurting.

'Sose? Maybe it would be better if you didn't see, or Anu.'

Draco groaned and vomited again. It didn't bother Barty much, even though it was on his hands. It was sort of nasty, but Draco was almost his nephew, and anyway everyone throws up sometimes.

Hadn't Barty himself got sick all over the drawing room of Malfoy Manor that time, after the Christmas party? Lucius had ticked he and Reg off something terrible about it later, and drinking responsibly, like grown men and not schoolboys.

The strange man-who looked vaguely familiar to Barty, somehow- sat down at the head of the bed. 'What can I do?'

'Talk to him. He's in pain right now.'

Draco threw up for a long time, until his belly was empty. Sweat was pouring down his body, so the elves had to keep changing the bed. He tried to talk until Barty leant over and gently pressed his finger to Draco's lips.

'No, shhhh.'

The flailing and sicking up finally stopped, but that didn't make it better. Draco groaned. 'Lights! Please lights!'

Winky blew out the candles and cooled the room as Draco started to shiver. His flesh was hot to the touch, and he cried out when Barty accidentally brushed his arm.

The strange man was still there. He swished his hand and bent toward Barty. 'What happens now?'

'He's going to be sick for a while. The Dark Lord must be very angry at us, to do this.'

' Did you do that? Is that how you know this?'

'Me? No. My friend did.'

'Friend?'

'Regulus Black, was his name. He died.'

The man swallowed hard, eyes moving to the side. 'I am so sorry to hear that.'

Barty was too. 'He was a good friend. Did you know him?'

'Not so well as I might have liked.'

Sose must have called Narcissa, because soon she was there. She went very white when she saw him, so white the strange man grabbed her arm to keep her knees from buckling.

'Winky, make a bubble for Draco, all right?'

Barty touched Narcissa's arm to get her attention. 'Narcissa? Draco's not well. He's going to be fine, but not for a while.'

She nodded, mouth trembling. 'What's causing this?'

'The Dark Lord is punishing him using his Mark. He can make it hurt like this. I've seen this before.'

'What do we do? Should we send for a medi-wizard?'

'No! That will make it worse, Cissy. We have to wait it out.'

'How long?'

This was hard, though Barty, wishing he could make this better. 'A few days, probably. He's going to get worse before he gets better.'

'How much worse?'

'Lots. Maybe it would be better...could the man and I do it? Tend him?'

'Barty, I would...it is so kind of you to offer. Surely it would...I can't just leave him this way. My son is **ill**.'

'It will hurt you to watch, though. Draco wouldn't...it would be hard on him, to have you see him this way.'

Winky hovered closer. 'Master Barty?'

'Winky?'

'Master Draco wants to speak to Mistress Narcissa.'

Narcissa bent over Draco as Winky vanished the bubble. 'Darling?'

'Mother? What's happening?'

'It's your Mark, darling. We aren't quite sure what this is, but we think it's-'

Draco gasped as the cramping started. 'Oh God!'

'Draco, Draco, shhhh, shhhh.' She bent over to try to touch his arm and Barty darted his own hand out to stop her.

'Don't, Cissy, you'll hurt him.'

'B-Barty! Get Mother o-out! Please!'

The strange man came and took Narcissa's hand. 'Go sit with Sose, Cissy. We'll send Kreacher for Snape.'

Sev didn't come. He couldn't, said Kreacher. He was with the Dark Lord himself, who was very upset about...something. Barty sensed that it had something to do with the scene in the office earlier, which he had heard a little about from Sose.

'He's tormenting Draco because he can't torment the kids, the fucker. Sorry.'

'It's all right.'

Kreacher bent and said something to the man, who nodded. 'I need to go, Barty. Would you stay with Draco?'

'I will. Who are you?'

The man smiled with Draco's face. 'A friend of the family.'

'Oh. You haven't got a name?'

'When I return, Barty, we'll talk about it.'

Barty stuck out his hand. It was a test of sorts for him; people who'd shake hands with him were generally all right. The man took it without hesitating and they shook. Then Kreacher took him, and they were both gone.

Barty waited until poor Draco was sleeping-or had fainted, and solemnly left Winky in charge of him, insisting to Draco's sniffling valet. The valet he brought with him, gladly, but to guard his almost-nephew, only Winky would do.

Narcissa had been crying. Barty went to her and embraced her, explained what had happened with Reg, who had been her cousin.

'Three days?'

'We just have to make sure Draco drinks water, is all. Are you-don't you need to go back soon?'

Narcissa sat down hard. 'How can I go back with my son this way?'

'If you don't, the Dark Lord will be angrier, though. Let's ask Sev when he's free. He'll help us.'

Narcissa touched his face lightly. 'You're a good friend to us, Barty.'

Barty smiled. 'You're my family.'

'We certainly are.'

It was enough for him. He went back to crawl in beside Draco, who was afraid to sleep by himself, even for a bit.

In Sofia, Bellatrix did not yet know that things were changing at startling rate. After the meeting had ended, she had withdrawn with her daughter and sister, and her sister's son, and her son-in-law.

'I would like to go to Castle Borev, if no one minds.'

'Shall I come with you, Draco?'

'Why don't you stay and visit, Mother?' Draco looked as though he was barely holding onto himself. His lips were white, and he looked more like Lucius like this, angular and tense.

'Are you sure, my darling?'

'I, ah...yes. I'll come back later.'

Cissy nodded and watched him go. She settled on Hermione's other side when the three sat down. 'Hermione? Does he do that much? Lash out like that?'

Hermione shook her head. 'No, Aunt Cissy. He's just sensitive about that, is all.'

'The Blacks are famous for their tempers, Narcissa.'

'I know that, Bellatrix, but it...it worries me. Draco has always been very restrained. It's unsettling that he reacted that way. He adores Sirius.'

'Sirius doesn't always...he's very idealistic, Aunt Narcissa. I think they both needed to get it out of their systems.'

Cissy nodded, forcing a smile. 'Of course they did. I'm being silly, is all.'

'No, you aren't. We worry too. The mind healer should help, though.'

'Of course he should.' She looked unconvinced. Hermione leant over and rested her head on her aunt's shoulder. Narcissa reached up to smooth her hair. Bellatrix put her arms round both of them, fiercely. There was so little she could do, she knew, aching.

'Hermione' said Narcissa, breaking the silence 'that was rather impressive magic, to say the least.'

'Thank you, Aunt Cissy.'

Bellatrix broke the hug in order to give her daughter a number of gentle pokes. 'Yes, girl, that was impressive. Were you not afraid?'

'I was a bit. I was afraid my control would slip.'

Bellatrix took her daughter's hand in hers. 'You need to be. I don't think it shall, girl, but it's something to keep in mind.'

'I know. Do you...do you want to meet him?'

'Grindelwald?'

'Yes. He lives in the cellar. I mean, we keep him there for security reasons. We can't take our wands, but we could go.'

Bellatrix blinked slowly. 'I don't...Cissy?'

Narcissa raised a brow. 'Darling, that is...I don't know either. Would he welcome a visit?'

'He would. He likes ladies.'

Bellatrix frowned harder, trying to pick through the tangled knot of her own feelings. 'I suppose I should regret if I do not take advantage of this opportunity. Rodolphus would never speak to me again. Is that a point for or against, I wonder?'

'Mother!'

'When you've been married as long as I, you will understand perfectly. Narcissa?'

'Don't be cynical, Trixie. I think perhaps I shall find Viktor and speak to him. I would like to know him better.'

The two ladies took an elf and went down, surrendering their wands at the door. The elves shifted and murmured, disliking this change in routine. Hermione led the way, back straight, very confident.

'Herr Doktor?'

'Ah, my dear, hello. And your mother?'

'That's right. Herr Doktor Gellert Grindelwald, my mother, Bellatrix Black Lestrange. Mother, Gellert Grindelwald.'

'Your grandparents, madam, was known to me.'

'My grandmother mentioned you, sir.'

Hermione was smiling a little. She waited until the pleasantries were over to suggest they sit down as the elves brought them food and drink. Everything, noted Bellatrix, was on light wooden plates, and required no cutlery. Nothing sharp, nothing breakable. Clever.

'Where are the boys today, Vicereine?'

'We've had a bit of a confrontation with the Dark Lord. They're cleaning up that mess.'

'How did you do?'

Hermione considered. 'I think we made our point, Herr Doktor.'

'How did you do, girl?'

'Well, sir. I think.'

'Madam, your opinion?' Grindelwald turned to her, courtly, cadaverous, pale, avid as a maggot. 'I sense great magic in you. Dark, much of it. Yes, very Dark.'

'She did splendidly.'

'What happened, precisely?'

Between the two of them the women explained it all. Grindelwald seemed pleased, hands clasped in delight as Hermione explained the trick with the glass. She told it with a species of pleased modesty, as though embarrassed by her own enormous skill and power.

'Good, good. That will send that grasping little cipher a message.'

Hermione went pink, eyes darting to her mother. Grindelwald noticed; he raised his patchy brows interestedly.

'My dear, indulge an old man and give your mother and I a bit of time, if you'd be so kind.'

Hermione looked at her worriedly. Bellatrix touched her cheek lightly. 'Perhaps a bubble, girl?'

'Yes, Mother. I'll send for my sewing.' She did just that, a shirt of Viktor's spread over her knees, head down. Bellatrix could sense, with that odd organ that seemed to her to be another heart, that her daughter was nervous. Afraid she would fall, perhaps. Bellatrix squinted at her, trying to reassure, and Hermione, with her own other part, put her head up and smiled a little. She was startlingly pretty, and very like Meddie had been, all great eyes and dark clean hair.

'You have strong feelings on the matter, madam?'

'I do. I was-I am- a Death Eater.' She rolled up her sleeve and showed him her Mark. Grindelwald seemed obscurely pleased by this.

'Your daughter has mentioned that. How bitter it must be to you, what has happened.'

Bellatrix considered. Something about this man invited the urge to confide; having known such Darkness himself, he'd understand instinctively what she meant . She parsed her own urge and found it, perhaps, allowable to some small degree. Still, she was Bellatrix Black Lestrange, and needed confide in no one. Reminding herself of that, she elected to be honest-to a point.

'It was, but better to know how it is than not to know.'

'I quite agree. How long did you serve?'

'Twenty...twenty six years, I believe. My husband would know.'

'Have you always had a tendency to Darkness?' He leant forward, nostrils flaring. Bellatrix was conscious of her own smell, jasmine and face-powder, a smell she'd worn like a second skin since she was grown.

'Yes. I have always known I was...different than other girls my age were.'

'And your daughter?'

'Hermione has always been powerful, but never...she is not Dark, Herr Doktor.'

'She could be. It is so strong in her. Surely you sense that?'

'I do.'

'Will you not share what you know with her? My instruction is useful, yes, but theory goes only so far. You could help her learn the practical aspects. You see the need for it, I presume?'

Bellatrix breathed out. 'Dark magic gave me everything I have. My daughter. But then it took everything. .'

Grindelwald waved it away. 'I am sorry for that, no doubt, but an intellect like hers...so rare and so eager...she drinks it in. Something in her thrills to the idea, one sees it in her eyes. She glows with it, veritably glows.'

His old man's voice was shrill with excitement, but in it she heard the echoes of the young man he'd been, handsome, charismatic, seductive. In Bellatrix's mind she heard Hermione's slightly ribald jest about the old man's attempts to seduce her and realised her girl had stumbled into the truth of it all unknowing. There are seductions and then there are seductions. Something about this broken old man quickened the pulse of Bellatrix's mind, made the heart of her intellect race. What was it doing to the girl? She darted her tongue out of her mouth to taste the moisture there. She blinked slowly, like a cat.

Grindelwald leant forward, watching her, drinking her in, holding her in himself. He was encountering her in his mind, the last sensual pleasure left to him in his great age.

'Tell me about him, Herr Doktor?'

'Your grandfather.'

She dismissed it with a sniff. 'The Dark Lord. You knew him.'

'I did.'

'What will you give me?'

'What have I got you want?'

Grindelwald smiled toothlessly. 'Teach the girl something for me.'

'What is it?'

'Whatever she'd like. Something I've taught her. It pleases me to consider that.'

Bellatrix darted out her tongue again. His eyes on her skin could not have been more stirring than his hand on her bare leg would have been. She felt him rake her slowly, greedily consuming her bare throat and cheekbones, fingering her brows in his mind.

'No Unforgivables.'

'She would excel at them.'

'Those are my terms.'

Grindelwald raised a brow. 'Interesting. Still, I agree. There are more useful things for her to know.'

'One spell.'

'One, but help her master it.'

'Fine.'

They shook on it. His hands were leather and sticks, the nails chipped and ancient-seeming.

'When first I knew Tom Riddle...'

It wasn't until the two women went upstairs that they knew something was wrong. Sirius was running toward them. 'Draco's sick!'

'What?'

Hermione tensed, hand flying to her wand. 'Poison, Sirius?'

'His Mark, Barty says.'

Bellatrix's eyes widened. 'Is Cissy with him?'

Sirius nodded. 'I need to go to Snape. Something awful's about to happen.'

Bellatrix sensed it too. She watched him go. Beside her, Hermione was alert as an owl, still holding her basket of sewing.

'Will you still go back day after tomorrow, Mother?'

'Don't know, girl. We'll need to wait and see.'

Snape somehow bought them a few more days. On the third day, just as Draco was coming round from his sickness, they got the news that Lucius was in Azkaban.


	68. Chapter 68

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers**

**I'd really enjoy hearing what people think about how the story is going, incidentally. Things are getting really complicated, so opinions would be great.**

Nagini's world came crashing down early in the morning on a day like every other, in her estimation. She was with her brood, settled snugly between Hetty-Speaker and Ivan-young, who was well enough now that he could walk about, and did more than she would have liked, despite what she could smell was fairly intense pain.

He was chanting words from a leaf-thing as Lucius-human made approving noises and smelt pleased. Nagini raised her head a bit and squinted at the leaf, trying to parse this business of making sooty marks on things and then saying them to other humans.

Her eyesight lacked the necessary contrast, she found, and so settled back, grunting her mild disapproval of the whole notion, and then bumped her skull very, very careful on both humans in turn. She would, she resolved, give Lucius-human rather a harder bumping to remind him of his promise to protect the young, and Hetty-Speaker as well.

Ivan-young set the papers down and stroked Nagini's flank. 'Vrun later?'

_/nagini would like that/_

Hetty-Speaker opened her mouth to translate when suddenly people were coming through the fire-pit, sticks drawn, the vibrations shaking the floor telling Nagini their speech was very loud. One of them held a leaf out and made more vibrations from deep in his belly.

Lucius-speaker shook his head, his own stick coming into his hand. He was making no rumbles but his smell was dangerous, feral, hot and sharp. The leaf-human brought his stick up and Lucius-human did too, and was faster. The stranger fell, his stick falling. But there were so many, and coming so quickly. Nagini darted forward, keeping her body between the strangers invading their nest and the most vulnerable of her brood.

One of the strangers ran toward them, stick raised, and Nagini struck. The man tried to back up but it was too late; a second later Nagini had bitten through his neck, spat his head as the rest of him jittered across the room for a second and fell, blood spraying.

But there were so many! Lucius was driving them back, and the others had come, but for every stranger who went down more seemed to come, and more still, until finally Lucius was limp, sleeping from a blast of stick-light. Nagini was surrounded, neck moving continuously as she brought down her enemies, tail lashing.

'Nagini! NAGINI!'

Nagini brought her head round. Hetty-Speaker smelt like bile and like terror. She motioned to the smelly man-wolf Greyback, who was holding Ivan-young, his human fangs poised at the young's tender throat.

'Call that fucking snake off right now!'

Nagini subsided, but only just. Tail lashing, she slithered to the man-wolf.

_/give nagini back her young/_

The wolf stared into her eyes. 'Fuck you, snake.'

Nagini's tail was faster than the wolf-man's eyes. She brought it up bunched like a rock and clocked the man-wolf right between the eyes. He dropped Ivan-young, stunned, and Nagini lashed out to catch her little one as he tumbled. He squeaked and went still in her coils, eyes huge.

'Bring the snake, we're all going to Hogwarts.'

Nagini coiled Ivan-young tighter and slithered through the fire-pit, prepared to fight for her fragile human brood.

What happened next was mainly beyond her ken. Nagini was a predator; she understood violence and the simple pleasures of the hunt. She did not understand politics, or why Master felt it necessary to hurt these humans who seemed to do him no harm but lived quietly and well.

'Why does he not come, Lucius?'

'I do not know, my lord.'

'Because's he's defected! He's fled to those traitors in Bulgaria!'

'No, my lord, never!'

'THEN WHY DOES HE NOT COME?'

'Perhaps something has happened.'

'Like what? We called him **days** ago, Lucius. Days.'

'Perhaps Draco is injured, or else unable to-'

'He is with those traitors, We are sure of it. Our sources have had few reports of him, and none within the past weeks.'

'He is deep under cover, my lord. Draco knows he is of more value to your lordship alive than dead.'

Master flung an upper appendage about irritably. ' We shall see about that. Take him to Azkaban, Greyback. When the boy shows his face We'll consider letting him go.'

Lucius smelt more than afraid. He smelt like a rabbit cornered by a pack of dogs, but he said nothing, just bowed as the man-wolves took him away. Hetty-Speaker reached her little upper-appendage and took the young's even tinier one.

_/nagini/ _said the Master abruptly _/where is the boy/_

_/the little one is here/_

_/the big one/_

_/away/_

_/has lucius said where/_

_/no/_

_/is he with the female hermione and her mate/_

Snakes can't lie. Their body language doesn't allow for it, and there is no word for lying in their tongue. Nagini's tongue darted out in consternation, tasting the unfamiliar urge to deceive.

_/nagini thinks draco-youngs instincts are not foolish that way/_

Master tilted his head at her. /_lucius has not said/_

_/no/_

_/where is narcissa /_

_/visiting ground stones/ _

That was as close as Nagini could come to explaining the cover story that the former Black sisters were praying at the ancestral tombs for a large number of suns. Since they could not be interrupted, no one could check. And as Nagini understood they were indeed visiting shed skins, it was not a lie.

_/both females/_

_/yes master/_

He nodded_. / the female and the young stay here now/_

_/nagini too/_

_/is nagini not sick of them/_

_/nagini eats soon/_

The Master hissed amusement. _/master is sure/_

So was Nagini. She dipped her head and coiled her little brood fiercely, prepared.

Vaike silently held out the basin as Drago, groaning, dry-heaved into it. His hair was matted with sweat. He laid still a moment and then it started again. On his other side, Barty was quiet, supporting Drago's head.

The spasm passed and Drago went limp, exhausted. His eyes were dull with agony and his lips cracking. Vaike called for salve and had the elf rub it on to ease the pain.

'Vaike?'

'Hmmm?'

'Sorry.'

'Shush.'

Drago slumped back, breathing hard. It had been a terrible three days, and it wasn't over. There was, according to Barty's fuzzy reckoning, at least eight more hours, and that was assuming that the man's damaged brain had not got things mixed up.

'Drago? You need to drink some water.'

'Can't. Vomit it back up.'

'Try for me.'

'Later.'

'Now, damn it.' She glowered furiously at him, as she would Paavo, and he nodded once, gasping with pain.

Barty silently took Drago's head again as Vaike took up the cup of cold water. Drago opened his mouth and let her give him a little of the water. He was correct; it came up right away.

'Try again, Drago.'

'No, Barty.'

'One sip.'

'No, God damn it!'

Barty's face didn't change. 'Should we tell the elves to bring you to hospital, then?' He wasn't angry or hurt, from his tone. He was just giving a choice.

'No! No hospital!'

'Then try the water one more time, all right? Just once and you can rest a little before we try again.'

Drago opened his mouth and let Vaike give him a little more. When it tried to come up he clamped his lips, moaning softly behind clenched teeth. But it stayed down.

Drago did sleep this time. Barty stood up, stretching. Vaike stood up too, grateful to Drago's slightly disturbing kinsman.

'Barty? Thank you. He needs you.'

'I know. It's all right. I held Draco when he was two hours old, did you know that?'

'I didn't.'

Barty nodded, smiling a little. 'He was very small and red, and had a head of blond hair.'

Vaike settled back in the chair, bones groaning from sleeping upright. She wanted a hot shower and a change of clothes and some sleep, finally. Should she? She considered, afraid to abandon Drago during this nightmare.

'Vaike? Why don't you go and rest? I'll stay. He'll sleep now, I think. It'll be done soon.'

She heeded the man's advice. An hour later, bathed, stomach full, in a borrowed nightdress, Vaike slid under the covers of a bed, sighed with relief and gratitude, and was deeply asleep in ten minutes.

When she woke an elf was shaking her. 'Mistress Vaike, Master Drago has asked for you.'

She sat up, mouth cottony. 'What time is it, Brinka?'

'Four thirty AM, Mistress Vaike.'

Shite, she'd slept ten hours! She jumped up, stripping to her skin and donning the clothes she'd worn. Half running, she took off down the corridor, nearly running into a startled looking Sandru. For Drago to send for her at this hour there had to be an emergency.

'Drago?'

He was sitting up in bed. 'My father's been taken to Azkaban.'

'What?'

'The Dark Lord had him taken this afternoon because I didn't come when he called me. It's a set-up. He meant for all this to happen.'

Vaike sat down and took his hand in hers. 'What do you want to do?'

'We can't do anything, Vaike. If we can't save Weasley, we can't save Father. He might go mad in that place, but at least it's fair.'

'Your aunt and uncles didn't.'

He nodded, not seemingly like he'd really heard. 'I've sent my elf to see what it-what he-could find out. I, ah...fuck, fuck fuck!'

Drago's fist lashed out and cracked hard against the post of the bed. He went pale, blood starting from the knuckles he'd cut. Vaike grabbed his hand to keep from swinging again and healed the cuts, glowering furiously.

'That doesn't help.'

'Then what will?'

'Do they know in Sofia?'

'They do. They're sending Yokov first thing in the morning to clear me to leave the bed.' He sank back, cradling his wrist in his other hand, rubbing at it. She took it in her own hands, gently feeling for broken bones.

'Don't do that again.'

'I'm frustrated.'

'Well, that'll fix it.'

He shifted restlessly. 'When the hell will that elf be back? I sent him half an hour ago.'

'He's probably trying to track Snape down. I'd imagine the Dark Lord's putting him through his paces.'

Drago got even paler. 'Oh, God, what if he has Snape seized as well?'

'He won't.'

'How do you know?'

'How do you?' She glowered fiercely at him, and Drago subsided momentarily, and then threw back his blankets.

'I can't wait.'

He made it perhaps two steps before he stiffened and sank down, legs shaking too hard to support his weight. Vaike hopped down and knelt beside him, offering him her arm so he could stand.

He ignored it, dropping his head. His shoulders were shaking. Suddenly his arms were about her, face to her neck. Vaike sat down so she could hold him better, rubbing his back. What the hell did she say to this? What could she do that would assuage the agony of the thing?

Her neck was damp. She reached up to smooth his hair, working her fingers through it as gently as she could. Drago's hand found hers, and twined his fingers through hers.

His stubble tickled, damp from weeping. She felt very alive, pierced by the clarity of things, the sense of purpose and the force of Drago's grief as she held him pressed to her heart.

She didn't know how it started, what came next. One moment they were together on the floor, and then they were...the same. Vaike wasn't sure exactly how one thing became another, but it had.

There was no pleasure. They moved out of an urgent sense of wanting to forget, longing for oblivion to cancel out the horrors of the present. Before, Drago stopped and looked down at her. 'Yes?'

She kissed him, hard. 'Yes.'

No pleasure, perhaps, but a sense of rightness. Both of them were tense, nervous, tentative, too tainted with remembered evils, histories that others had written for them to lose themselves totally in the other.

But perhaps it could be good. Vaike guided him at the crucial moment, and gasped, stiffening slightly, body tightening against phantom pain. Drago stopped again, until she hissed at him and then it was all sensations, and then sticky-wet on her thighs.

After, he rolled off, stunned. 'That was...did it hurt?'

She touched his face. 'It won't with practice.'

He laid down on the carpet and laughed a little. 'It was nice.'

'Yes.'

'We have to get married now.'

'Always planned on it. Didn't we?'

'Yes, but I mean now. Tonight.'

'Drago...'

'Don't you want to?'

His hand touched her hair gently. 'Things have changed. We'll have the elves bring your parents first thing tomorrow, and do it then.'

Vaike snuggled closer. 'You're sure?'

'We're going to war soon. I want to have been married to you, even if it was only a few months.'

She frowned, feeling nameless reservations. She wanted to marry Drago, but something nudged at her mind, some formless creature of wind and dust that whispered in her ear, deadly and implacable.

'You don't think it's a good idea?'

She rolled so they were belly to belly, nose to nose. 'Of course I do. But you don't. You don't think you're going to survive this.'

He sighed and gently pressed his head to her chest, still covered by her blouse. She realised they'd never seen one another naked. He laid still a moment.

'I don't know, Vaike. I feel like...everything will be different no matter what happens. I want us to have been married, however briefly, because once it's through we might not be the same people. Or alive, even.'

She nodded, stroking his hair. They stayed still another few moments and if by pre-arranged signal, she stood and helped him stand. They washed and went to Sofia to plan for the wedding.

The first person they met was Viktor, who knew at once something had happened . He sat down and listened to them, having first called Hermione. Now he was thoughtful, standing on the private balcony of their quarters, deep in thought.

It had been, mildly put, a terrible few days. Knowing that the real Ivan was safe in Pernik helped, as it turned out, virtually nothing at all when it came to the knowledge that the false one was being tormented on their behalf.

When the group had split up to process things, Viktor had gone with his uncles. Uncle Rumen looked twenty years older, face ashen, and Uncle Penko looked calmly enraged, ready to start shouting and smashing.

'Damn him to hell!'

Viktor agreed. 'Uncle, Drago is right. We can't help him.'

'I know. That doesn't make this any easier to deal with, Viktor.'

Viktor nodded. Weasley Jr had seemed a very good-natured fellow to him, and young, closer to Anu's age than Hermione's. Eager to help, was the worst thing, that childlike eagerness for adventure and glory and wanting to make things right.

'So what shall we do?'

Viktor stood. 'I'm going to have a month of masses said for him, for a start. Send an elf to ask Hermione to join us when she'd done with the ladies, please. I'd like to make a pilgrimage to visit Mother's tomb.'

Zhivka's tomb was quiet, the remains of flower offerings crumbling dryly onto the ground. Every so often, a formal petition was submitted to have her exhumed and moved to the cathedral, so the people could venerate her and ask her for favours. Several supposed miracles were being attributed to her intersession, and a woman in the mountains swore Mother had come to her in a dream and told her where to find her stock of coins, which she moved and then misremembered where.

Viktor couldn't bear the thought of moving her. Castle Krum had been her home, and it seemed meet to him that she be there with the others, waiting for Father and then, someday, for Viktor himself.

Besides, Father always asked him to tend her personally. How could he do that, if she were in the cathedral? Sacristans and altar boys would sweep her mausoleum, Bulgarians would come from all corners to leave flowers and pray for blessings, and she wouldn't be theirs anymore.

He felt terribly selfish in admitting it, but that was some of his ambivalence. And as angry and hurt as he was by Father's...Father...he couldn't stand thinking of how it would be when he found out she'd been moved. It would break his heart. No, better she stay here, with the people who'd loved her most, and do her miracles, if they were, quietly, as she had in life.

It was very late. Hermione had joined him, and together they descended, the priest's new assistant lighting the way. At the gate Viktor sent the fellow away with a word. Hand in hand, the two of them ventured into the realm of the dead.

'Mama?' He touched the carved name. 'It's Viktor.'

He felt a warmth settle on his shoulders, like a cloak, and took the flowers to hang from the top of the tomb in a swag. Hermione was doing the same with the carved English names, head bent forward. Her shoulders, he noticed, trembled very slightly. Sometimes that happened here. He saw her hand, the shaking one, touch the upper name, the woman's name, and stay there. Viktor, because he understood, left her alone. If she wanted comfort, she would ask.

After he'd seen to his mother, Viktor saw to his grandparents. He remembered his grandmother Krum only a bit and his grandfather not at all. He touched the nameplate all the same, reflecting on the ways our histories knot on themselves, like snakes biting their own tails, leading us again and again to the paths our feet have trod smooth, the thousand small patterns that form our lives without our realising it.

Hermione was beside him again, back straight. Someday they would be brought here, palled in incense and linen, tucked beneath the stone covers to sleep until the Trumpet sounded and the dead awoke, reclaiming their mortal forms, mothers finding children and husbands wives, waiting together hand in hand.

Viktor looked down at his wife, who was chewing her lip thoughtfully. 'What are you thinking about?'

She shook her head. 'It was a nice service. Grandmama's, I mean.'

'It was.'

Grandmama, of course, was not here. Her pitifully shrunken remains had been taken to Castle Borev, to slumber with her husband and the empty place where Stefan should have been but wasn't.

He had been taken at Viktor's orders into the deep uninhabited woods and left there, to rise from a dozen small piles of animal-gnawed bone and face the final sunrise alone. He chose that, thought Viktor, but touched the medal round his neck all the same, feeling slightly guilty for denying the man services, even if he did deserve it. Uncle Grigor's tomb was likewise empty, but, thought Viktor, turning from the distasteful memory of his mother's brother, surely such a kind man wouldn't be Vanished forever; at least, Viktor hoped not.

Viktor hoped a lot of things these days. He bent his head toward Zhivka. 'Help Ron Weasley, Mama, if you can, please. He needs it.'

He felt her with him, a little, and knew it was as much as he could do. They went back to Sofia and waited for news, and then just as Drago was recovering, the word came about Uncle Lucius.

Drago sought him out late that night. He had lost weight during the terrible days of his illness, and his tunic hung on him. 'Viktor?'

'Drago, it's your wedding tomorrow. Is everything all right?'

'Fine. Vaike's sleeping.'

'So...' Viktor was gratified to see that he could still make Drago squirm, blushing.

'It's like you said.'

'It is. I am proud you did the right thing, by the way.'

'I, ah...we both started it, and then...we would have next year or the year after, anyway. We were thinking, though, it might be better to keep it quiet until then. So we don't hurt our image.'

'You weren't planning on children right away, I hope?'

Drago snorted, shaking his head. 'Let's wait to see if we live through this war and then we'll talk. You aren't angry?'

'No. I know you knew better than that, but what's done is done, and as you've said, it was all going to happen anyhow.'

'We didn't mean...it happened so quickly. One moment we were kissing and then it was...I didn't like it, exactly. I mean, I did, but it felt...'

'Strange?'

'I was scared I'd hurt her.'

'You don't think she'd tell you?'

'No, she would.'

'I'm glad you're thinking of it. Have you talked to anyone else? Does my father in law know?'

'We've sent a letter. Mother and Aunt Trixie are going home tomorrow night.'

'I would think they'll return before too long.'

'Hope so. And Snape, and the old people.'

'Aunt Hetty, too, and Nagini.'

Drago bit his lip, Hermione-like. 'I would rather...if there was some way she could stay until the baby was born...it would kill her to lose it.'

'That might be the only way.'

'I know, but she's not...complicated. It would be terrible to crush that about her.'

Viktor nodded, worrying for the sweet, simple woman who was always so kind to them all. 'We'll find a way.'

Drago nodded. The stars, above them, shone brightly. Wizarding Sofia looked beautiful in the late summer haze, a few bats swooping and diving as cats sang in the allies.

'When this is done, what then?'

'How do you mean?'

'What do we do?'

Viktor had been wondering that as well. 'We put Britain back together. It will take a long time.'

Drago's hands were tight on the railing. 'What will you be?'

'Be?'

'Viktor, you're damned near tsar right now. What will you be when this is done?'

'I don't know.'

'I know what I'll be, I think.'

'What's that?'

'Do you recall, at school, they called me the Butcher's Boy?'

Viktor nodded. Drago was leading up to something. 'I do.'

'I expect they'll shorten it somewhat.'

Viktor winced. 'You don't know that.'

'Like fuck I don't. You think history will care about how this felt to contemplate? It won't. All anyone will know about me a hundred years from now will be all those people I'll have cooked alive before this is done.'

'You don't need to worry, Drago.'

'I do.'

'You won't be the only one. I've ordered more deaths than you.'

'Factually, yes, you have. But it's not...I'd rather do it than have one of you do it. You need your hands clean.'

'They're not, though.'

'They will be. History will wash them. Bet you people pray to you after...when you've joined your ancestors.'

'I should hope not.'

Drago raised his own hands to look at them. 'All that blood has got to go someplace, Viktor. I'm a good choice for that. People are prepared to believe it of me. Because of Father. I love him so much, you know, but he couldn't have...at least we're good at it. Really, honestly good at it.'

Viktor wanted to hug him and shake him. 'Drago, stop.'

'We are. They say it when I go by, at camp. Call me the Traitorsbane. It's a damned sight better than the Butcher's Boy, but still.'

'You did exactly the right thing with Stefan.'

'And will again. If I thought we could fix Britain any way but this, I'd do it. I would.'

'Everyone knows that.'

'So the path is set. It has been for a long time. That night you got engaged to Hermione, that started it.'

Drago cracked his neck. 'Viktor?'

'Drago?'

'If I had to go down in history as a vicious butcher, I'm glad it's for Hermione and yourself.'

'You aren't going to go down in history that way, Drago.'

Drago didn't answer. The two of them stood in silence and looked at the stars.


	69. Chapter 69

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Things are about to get *really* interesting here, y'all. Really interesting... ;)  
**

Narcissa viewed the events of the previous few days with a species of numb shock quite different from her usually clear-headed, practical nature. She had been with her niece and sister in a practice room when the news about Lucius came.

It was Dobby, and he was weeping as he held out the parchment. Across the room, the sounds of combat had faded. Narcissa took the letter and slit the seal with her nail, face blank. She opened it, George poking his head from her bodice with an interested hiss.

Rodolphus's handwriting was square and clear. 'Lucius in Azkaban. Hetty and Ivan taken to Hogwarts. Old people being watched, family under surveillance. Snape working on situation, stay where you are for now.'

She set down the parchment. Hermione's feet smacked crisply against the mats as she ran over. 'Aunt Cissy?'

'Lucius is in Azkaban and they've taken Hetty and Ivan.'

Bellatrix had been right behind, and she actually got paler. 'What?'

'Draco is too sick to know right now, but we must tell the others immediately.'

So they had. Now, impossibly, another layer had been added to the grief and confusion, which is to say her son had come to her, gawky and awkward as a new colt, and told her that he meant to marry Vaike Kask that same day.

'Marry? Draco, you are fifteen.'

'Yes, Mother.'

'Did something...happen?'

A fine pink glow spread over his cheeks and neck. 'She comforted me, Mother.'

'Ah.'

He took her hand. 'It would have been this year or next anyhow.'

'I know.'

His eyes met hers. 'Are you very upset?'

She sat shook her head, sitting down on the closest bench. 'I like Vaike, Draco. I always have. But my husband is in prison and my son is fifteen and wants to marry a girl he met six months ago. Do you see why I am rather struggling?'

Draco dropped his head. 'Yes, Mother.'

'Father would-Father does want you to be happy. Draco, are you very sure? Once it's done it can't be undone.'

'I'm sure.'

'Then what can I say? What can any of us say?'

'If you'd rather I not...'

'You have known her.'

'Yes.'

'Then you must marry her, Draco. I am pleased that you are doing the right thing with this.'

He breathed out, relieved. 'We're holding off on children for a few years.'

Children, she thought dizzily. That's possible now for them, children. Vaike wasn't pretty but she was smart and sturdy. Their children would be healthy, and have the girl's fine thick hair.

'I'm glad.'

Draco knelt down and pressed his head to her lap. 'Mother, please try to understand. It's for the best.'

'I agree. But my son is to be married. Of all the things we've ever wanted for you, Draco, marriage at fifteen was not one of them.'

'I know. But we-we don't know who we'll be after, Mother.'

'Precisely so.'

'I'd like a few weeks with Vaike in case we don't make it through.'

'Darling heart...'

'And if anything should happen, you'll see she's cared for, won't you?'

'She'll be beside you, Draco.'

'Promise me, Mother.'

'I promise.'

Her hands stroked his hair gently. 'Draco, I have loved you since we knew you were going to come. I am grateful to have had any time at all with you. I wish we might have had more.'

He lifted his head. 'We will, Mother.'

'You must make me a promise in return.'

'Anything.'

Narcissa touched his cheek. 'You will survive this, no matter what it takes.'

He sat back on his heels. 'Clarify, Mother?'

'You and Vaike and your cousins, including Anu. Whatever you need to do to survive, and help the others survive, you will do it. Do you promise?'

'I do, Mother.'

She touched his cheek again. 'I'll send for a ring for you both, and her engagement and bridal gifts.'

'Thank you, Mother.'

Now things were nearly ready, and Lemmy was helping her into her robes. They were the grey-blue ones she'd worn in December, she remembered, and then the tears started, scalding-hot down her cheeks. Lemmy hovered by her head, shurring softly, stroking her carefully arranged hair.

'Can't' she sobbed helplessly 'can't, can't.'

Lemmy's ancient, rhumey eyes were soft. 'Mistress said the same thing when Master Cygnus died, remember?'

Narcissa cried harder, reminded of another loss, the pain fresh and bright again. She dropped her head into her hands and sobbed, chest heaving. She had never felt so utterly alone before.

'Lucius, Lucius!'

Lemmy was rubbing her back gently, saying nothing. 'Oh, God, both of them are gone! My husband and son are gone!'

'Not gone, Mistress. We know Master and Master Draco will be back soon.'

'Damn the Dark Lord! Damn him!' She lashed out with her hand and shoved something blindly off her vanity. It shattered and Narcissa found that to be no help at all. Her tears crested and began to recede, running their course. George, who'd been coiling her neck worriedly, tasted the tracks of her tears and bumped her chin with his skull-crests, obviously dismayed.

'What a mess I've made! Goodness, Lemmy. How foolish of me.'

Lemmy crooned wordlessly as she pulled Narcissa back together. 'Mistress, shhhh.'

An elf let Hermione in without alerting her aunt. One moment she was alone and then she wasn't. 'Aunt Cissy?'

'Hermione! My word, sweetheart, are you all right?'

Hermione leant in for a hug and Narcissa embraced her. They held one another a long time in silence, their heart beats loud in the room. Then Hermione gently stepped back.

'Are you all right?'

'I am afraid for your uncle, love. And it is hard for me, knowing Draco is about to marry.'

'I would think so.'

Narcissa smiled and smoothed her niece's hair. 'You know, Hermione, when you were young you used to ask if you'd be a Death Eater when you were grown. Do you remember?'

'I do.'

'We always told you no. At the time, it was because none of us could bear to picture crushing your gentleness by exposing you to battle and things like that. Now I am even more glad it did not happen. Do you know why?'

'No, Aunt Cissy.'

'Because you will never feel as helpless as I do right now. I am so, so sorry for how things have turned out, but in this the ancestors have spared you, my darling. Thank God.'

Hermione sat down, head in her lap as Draco had done. 'I'm sorry, Aunt Cissy.'

'It's nothing you did. The Dark Lord has always been a monster. I suppose I was simply willing to overlook it because it never touched me personally. Would that I'd had the strength to say something before it was too late.'

Hermione snuggled closer. 'We're working to fix things.'

'I know. Dear Severus and the others.'

'We'll make it better, I promise.'

Narcissa smoothed her niece's curls. 'I have always said women have the harder part, Hermione. Do you know why?'

'Why?'

'Because we must needs do all a man does, but cheerfully. We fight our battles, but the world expects us to smile through it, and speak gently, and never make it seem as if we did anything at all. A mere fight would be far easier.'

Hermione raised her head. 'I think so too.'

'Are you ready, love?'

'I am.'

'Then let's go forth and conquer.' Head high, that's just what Narcissa did.

The Dark Lord Himself was equally thinking about women, but not at all in the same way. He set down the letter and glared at Walden Mcnair. 'So your boy is willing, Walden?'

'He is, my lord, but the French are balking.'

'Offer them more money, then. Must We do everything?'

'The girl is only fifteen, my lord. Her father feels-'

'We don't care about the father. Tell the uncle We expect the girl by the end of the month. She might finish her education here in Britain.'

Mcnair swallowed hard. 'Yes, my lord.'

The Dark Lord waved him out, and Mcnair scurried. If He had known how effective imprisoning Malfoy was in effecting the morale of His underlings, He'd have done it years ago.

'Galvin?'

'My lord?'

'Where is the Bulgarian and Feathering's wife?'

'We've put them in a guest suite on the forth floor, my lord.'

'Nagini is with them?'

'All the time, my lord.'

The Dark Lord nodded. 'Very good. We wish to review Our student-fighters in an hour's time. Have Amycus see to it. And where are the little ones?'

'At home for another few weeks, my lord.'

'Not any more. We can't risk it during an invasion. Have Mulciber summon them tonight, We want them by tomorrow morning.'

Goyle bowed and left quietly. He was quite a stealthy fellow for his size. If he'd been a bit smarter the Dark Lord would have been worried, but fortunately Galvin was not nearly that clever. It comforted the Dark Lord, knowing that. He sent for Snape once he was gone, and the man came at once. He'd probably been fussing over Feathering's wife or some nonsense.

'Snape?'

'My lord?'

'How do they fare, Our guests?'

'Lord Borev has a slight cold but Madam Feathering is well.'

'How long until she whelps?'

Snape considered. 'Perhaps two or three months, my lord. She conceived sometime in April, according to her estimates.'

'Excellent. The child's health?'

'Good, my lord. It kicks strongly.'

'How fortunate for us. A male, would you say?'

'There is no way to tell, my lord.'

'We should certainly hope it is a male. A male would be worth more to Feathering, surely.'

'My lord?'

'A girl child is all right, one supposes, but surely a boy would make Feathering more eager to obey Us in the matter of the coming war? We worry, Severus, We do. He is surrounded by decadent foreigners and their wiles.'

'I have no doubt, my lord, that Desmond Feathering's whole being is focused on saving Britain.'

'How reassuring. Amycus tells Us that Galvin's son is reluctant to practice his Dark magic on the targets. Why is that, precisely? You were the boy's teacher, were you not?'

Snape came closer, phial in hand. ' I was, my lord. The curriculum at Hogwarts is geared toward reinforcing the preciousness of Purebloods and our way of life. Perhaps he is concerned an excess of zeal on his part might damage one or two past repair.'

The Dark Lord thought that seemed quite possible. 'Speak to him, then, for Us. If he damages a few, that is simply the cost of the New Britain.'

'I was thinking, my lord...perhaps Goyle Jr might be of more use to us in other ways?'

'What other ways, Severus?'

'Lord Borev might well be more inclined to trust a big boy like his cousin than an adult.'

'Goyle Jr is hardly bright enough to instruct anyone in anything, if he takes after Galvin.'

'Not formally, my lord, of course. But informally...'

'We suppose. Tell us, Severus, what do you hear of young Mcnair these days?'

'Mcnair? Not much, my lord. He works in the Ministy, I believe.'

'His character?'

'Quite like this father's.'

The Dark Lord nodded. 'We have ordered Walden to push the French on that matter.'

'Matter, my lord?'

'We want them fully committed to Us in this coming conflict.'

Snape's face never changed. 'My lord, Yseult Ropion is fifteen.'

'The Lestrange girl was twelve when you sold her, Severus, was she not?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Then this should be no problem. See to it, Severus. Help Walden bring the girl as quickly as possible.'

'May I ask why, my lord?'

'In due time, Severus. In due time.'

At the appointed hour, the Dark Lord went to review his youngest troops, ranks of scrubbed little faces staring up at him as they marched by, saluting, the Mark above them as His banner, reminder of their holy Cause.

Of course, having their younger siblings here would help as well. It would take a brave man, thought the Dark Lord, to be a coward in this army. He waved down at His littlest cannon-fodder and was well-pleased. Let the Bulgarians come and dash themselves to bits against His forces. He was ready for them.

Snape slipped from the room like a disease, head down. His stomach, unusually, was churning, and his hands felt damp, contemplating what he felt sure was to come. He ghosted down the corridors, glaring scared minor Death Eaters and aurors from his path without breaking stride.

He went home to Spinner's End and threw off his coat, swearing. Mippy came and took the coat, squirming nervously despite Snape's never having raised a hand to him.

'Master?'

'Bad news, Mippy. Where is the idiot dog?'

'Right here, you greasy bastard.' The idiot dog rose from the divan, clothing wrinkled and travel-stained.

'Draco has married Vaike Kask.'

Snape shook his head, sure he hadn't heard correctly. 'Stop joking, you ponce, that's hardly funny.'

'No joke. Here, I've a letter for you.'

He thrust it at Snape and sank back down. For the first time, Snape really looked at him. He was grey about the face, eyes dull, unshaven, hair sticking up oddly.

"Godfather,

Vaike and I have married. It was the right thing to do. I am sorry we could not give you notice. Please tell us what to do to help you with things.

Your dutiful godson,

Draco."

Snape set down the letter, shaking his head. 'How the hell did this happen?'

'Fuck am I supposed to know? I've been here, remember?'

'Did you find anything out about Malfoy?'

'Not a damned thing. Spent all morning sniffing round Wales. Nothing.'

'Greyback's boys?'

'Getting ready to move. Have you been to London lately, Snape? It's a goddamned armed encampment these days. I got asked for my papers three different times in fifteen minutes.'

Snape sank into a chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Things are going much faster than my plans allowed for. We need to get Malfoy out, that's the first step.'

'I've a plan, actually.'

'A plan?' Snape felt a moment of that strange unreality that one sometimes experiences when one is either tippling or has been reading something very intensely and the world cuts in abruptly, as though reality and fiction have swapped places, and what's truly real is the internal world.

'Let's send Peter for him.'

'How?' Had the dog taken leave of his senses, finally? Much though Snape would ordinarily relish the thought, it was really very inconvenient for Black to go mad right at the moment.

'We tell him he's going in to break him out. Lucius takes his wand, stuns him and leaves him.'

'I thought you wanted to geass him to cave in place of Regulus.'

'I do, but it'll be easier if he's too shocked to resist. Speaking of which...we'll have to kill him, won't we, to do that?'

'Likely we will.'

'Which of us will...did you want to...?'

Snape raised his head slowly. 'What, Black, haven't got the nerve? Don't want to risk splitting your soul? Just let Snape do it, like the rest of you Gryffindor foo-'

'Shut up, you manky cunt! I was going to volunteer to do it so you needn't. Why must you be such an arse all the time?'

'It is my nature.'

The men stared at one another a moment and then started to laugh. It felt good, like it was a broom that swept away their worries for a little while. Then they settled down again.

'I am' said Snape after a few silent moments 'rather pressed at the moment.' Snape did not, on principle, apologise to filthy dogs, but he felt some explanation was needed.

'I understand. I was also wondering...'

'Yes?'

'If you didn't mind...'

'Out with it, Black? Shouldn't you be off wooing Madam Tamm or something?'

'That's what I was asking you, you fucking berk! I wanted to ask if you'd be my best man!'

Snape blinked. 'Your sense of humour is wretched.'

'I'm not joking. If you don't want to do it, you needn't.'

'I suppose' said Snape slowly 'there ought to be someone there to keep you from being a total ass the entire time.'

'Anu would like it.'

'Tamm's taste is hardly reliable. He spends time voluntarily with you.'

'I'm his step-father.'

'Poor lost child.'

'Is that a yes?'

'Fuck you, Black.'

Black nodded peaceably. 'All right, then.'

'When is the blessed event?'

'Soon. I'd do it tonight if I could.'

'She has no preference?'

'I've, er, not asked yet.'

Snape sighed through his nose at his arse of dog-spy. 'I wish you nothing but ill.'

'I hope gnomes eat your whole garden.'

'It's no thanks to you they've not already.'

The two best friends, who didn't like one another, kept this up for some time.

In another part of Britain, Ron Weasley was walking. Slowly, but walking, little hand caught in a much larger one, which is to say Goyle Jr's. For such a huge fellow, he was surprisingly quiet, in every way. And walked slowly to allow this body's short legs to keep up.

Snape had briefed them both thoroughly, harsh face twisting with emphasis. When he was het up, he over-enunciated even more, making the experience feel oddly bruising, as though he'd pelted Ron with tiny stones.

'It is imperative' he'd snapped, giving the last word four separate syllables 'that you find a hiding place suitable to a large number of people, many of them quite young.'

'Ve have elves, sir?'

'I daresay, but it's hard to know for sure.'

So now the two lads were looking for a place to do just that. On Ron's other side, Nagini was slithering, head moving right and left as she tasted the air, sometimes hissing to draw their attention to something she found noteworthy. Once it was a Firstie who saw her, shrieked and ran toward the Ravenclaw Common room, screaming about giant snakes.

Goyle had said nearly nothing. Now he paused. 'Do you' he asked slowly 'need to wee?'

Ron shook his head. 'No.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes.'

'There is a loo' he gestured 'right here.'

'Is girl's loo, though?'

'Is it?'

Goyle approached cautiously. 'Oi, anyone in there?'

'Only me' a thick, sobby sounding voice said. Goyle grunted. 'We'll move on, then, Miss. Sorry.'

'No one ever wants to see Myrtle! No one ever wants to spend time with boring old Myrtle! You'll probably throw books through me!'

'Moaning Myrtle, is it?'

'What do you care?'

'Go away!'

'You wanted company.' Goyle fearlessly walked inside, watching for the ghost. Ron faintly remembered hearing about Moaning Myrtle, and followed Goyle, Nagini by his side.

Myrtle screeched like a banshee. 'Snake! Snake!'

'She's a friend. Nagini, her name is.'

'Why is she here?' Myrtle floated closer. She had been a plain, drab little thing in life, noted Ron, surprised to find he felt a bit sorry for her. It must be awful, he thought, stuck in here with no one to talk to.

'She's keeping us company.'

'What are you doing, then?' She floated peevishly by the sinks, tossing her limp little pigtails briskly for emphasis. Ron faintly remembered hearing about Moaning Myrtle. They could hardly tell her what they were actually doing...

'I vant to see ghost. Goyle says ve see Myrtle.'

'Have you really come to see me?' She dipped her head, her grey skin getting a bit greyer. She was, realised Ron with a mixture of horror and amusement, actually blushing, or would be if she were alive.

'That is vright. Ve come to see. You are Myrtle?'

'Where are you from, little boy?'

'Bulgaria.'

'Oh, I hear that's very nice.' Myrtle floated to eye-level with him. It was obvious she was trying to be friendly, and Ron felt like the right thing to do was be friendly back. Especially because he had rather lied to her just now, and the more he thought about her situation the sadder he got.

'Mind if I use your loo?'

'No, go ahead.'

Nagini came closer, sniffing. She poked him lightly with the tip of her tail. 'Myrtle is ghost, Nagini.'

'Why has the snake got on a top-hat?'

'She likes hats.'

Myrtle suddenly frowned. 'Her eyes are very big, aren't they?'

'Yes, big.'

'I remember...eyes like that. Big, big eyes.' Myrtle's chin quivered for a moment and then, to Ron's surprise, she shook it off.

'Will you come and visit me, little boy?'

'Yes, ve come.'

'All right. I'll help you if you do.'

'Help us with what, Myrtle?' Goyle, washing his hands carefully. They were enormous hands.

'Whatever you need. I know everything about the castle, and the other ghosts.'

'That would be nice.'

'Why is he here, though?' Myrtle pointed at Ron. 'He's too little to be a Firstie.'

'He's sort of a...guest, I suppose. He's nine.'

'Oh. The Dark Lord's guest?'

'That's right.'

Myrtle sniffed haughtily. 'Don't like the Dark Lord. His changes have disrupted my routines. Do you know some aurors came in here a few days ago, sniffing about? I had to chase them.'

'Did you?'

Myrtle grinned. 'I made all the toilets spray, and the sinks, and they ran out. The Dark Lord was fur-iou-os.' She looked almost pretty like this, pleased as punch with her own cleverness, dragging the last word out for emphasis.

'They sent the Bloody Baron to scold me, but he didn't. He just nodded at me and left without a word.'

'He is scary?'

Myrtle considered. 'Not to a ghost. Though, no one likes being ticked off.'

'That is true.'

'Too right. So we'll see you tomorrow, Myrtle?'

'All right.'

Nagini stopped them, hissing urgently, tail up as she pressed her snout to the floor. They watched until she came to a certain place and, sniffing harder, hissed once. The floor gave a hideous moaning whine and started, slowly, wrenchingly, to open.

'Odd's bodkins, Ivan, we need to get Snape right now!'

'Vhat is it, Greg?'

'It's the blinking Chamber of Secrets!'

They ran to summon Snape as Nagini, soundlessly vanished inside the yawning mouth of the aperture, the flash of her tail visible for a moment until it, too, was swallowed.

'Myrtle, will you keep people out until we get back?'

Myrtle beamed, a touch maniacally. 'Will I?'

As they left, the sinks began to spray and Myrtle's childlike giggle echoed through the bathroom. Ron heard it a long, long time.


	70. Chapter 70

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**There's some stuff in this chapter that might be problematic for some of you, so I'd like to go ahead and address some of it. It's sort of spoilery in nature, so I'm putting everything at the bottom. If you're concerned, skip ahead and read it, is my advice.  
**

******TRIGGER WARNING: DISCUSSION OF SELF HARM  
**

** Again: There is behaviour that I absolutely don't endorse in real life. In this _specific, fictional context_, things are a little different. But-and this is a big but-no one, in real life, will ever come close to this set of circumstances.  
**

**Please feel free to PM me with any concerns or questions.  
**

**Madea  
**

It had been, thought Sose, a lovely ceremony, if quickly done. She had helped prepare Vaike, and accompanied her to the place where she and Draco had wed. As neither of them were Orthodox, that had been under the ornamental birch tree in the courtyard of the Ministry, which seemed oddly appropriate to Sose.

Now the children were honeymooning in the house in the Rose Valley, and Sose was working on one of Anu's shirts. Anu himself was sitting beside her, with Barty on the floor colouring with Yana, all of them comfortably quiet. In his sling Edric was drowsing softly, sometimes opening his eyes very wide so as not to miss anything, and other times letting his head loll, a little drool working its way down his chin.

'That new male' said Anu finally, meaning the goats 'was an excellent choice, Nene. He led them all right back today when it stormed, the elf says.'

Sose nodded. 'He's sweet, too.'

'Nicely built. The kids'll be strong this year.'

'I think so.'

The Floo hissed, and Sose, Anu and Barty all leapt up, the two with wands to defend the others and Barty to shove Yana behind himself and stand in front of she and baby, armed only with his resolve to protect them.

It was Sirius and he looked terrible, lurching in and sitting down in the closest chair. 'Anu, take the kids and Barty somewhere else, hurry, go!'

He did it, swinging Yana up on his hip and shepherding their tall, confused friend into another room. Sose tensed, hand on her wand, not scared of Sirius (very much) but scared for him, and what this could mean. He slumped in his chair, hands shaking as Kreacher appeared with a cup of strong coffee. Sose could smell alcohol in it. Sirus gulped it and then set down the cup.

Anu came back in. 'Sirius, what is it? Is it Uncle?'

'No. No, thank God, I think-Oh, God, they came for the children.'

'What?'

'Greyback's boys left Wales today. They, ah, had orders. I followed them to this little town in the Midlands-Sherer, I think was the name-and they-they went into the houses and they started dragging the kids out. I swear to God, they took every kid over five and-'

Sose felt something in her chest and realised it was her heart, pounding fiercely. Her palms were slick and hot, and her knees wanted to unbuckle themselves except that she refused to let them.

'Took them where?'

'Hogwarts. I have Snape on it, but they-they were screaming and screaming, and the parents. The mothers-the mothers were-one of them tried to, to get her son back and she had a baby with her. A wolf took it and-he swung the head against a brick wall and-' Sirius put his head down and started to cry.

Bile filled her mouth. Sose swallowed hard, fighting the darkness encroaching on her vision and came to knelt by him. 'You couldn't stop them.'

He didn't answer. After a moment he reached out and took her hand, and she let him. It was forbidden, haraam, but surely shaking him off in this state would be worse than touching him?

On Sirius's other side, Anu did the same. His face was a decade older, shadowed by the man he was becoming. 'Do they know in Sofia?'

'T-they do. Sorry, I didn't mean-'

Anu hugged him. 'It's all right, Baba. We understand.' Then he pulled back, half-afraid Sirius wouldn't like being called that. Sirius ruffled his hair, wiping his eyes with his other hand.

'Could you go check on the others? I'll need to talk to Barty about things at some point but this isn't the time.'

Anu got up, glowing a little, and quickly made his way to the children and Barty. Sose looked at Sirius, not quite sure what to say. Was he angry she'd seen him like that? Would he hit her now? She didn't think so but it was always possible.

'Marry me?'

She blinked slowly. 'I...'

'I have wanted to ask for some time. All I could think about today when I saw them dragging those kids away was, what if it Anu? Or the baby, or Yana and Ivan? What would I do?'

'It's not. It won't be.'

'I know that, but Sose, my God, the **wailing**. Draco dreams about it and now I will too.'

'Yes. I mean, I, ah, would like to. Marry you. I wish you weren't going to have nightmares, though.'

'So do I, darling. Kreacher?'

Kreacher, who'd obviously been lingering close-by, appeared at once, beaming ear to ear. 'Yes, Master Sirius?'

'Please tell Mother Mistress Sose has agreed to marry me. And Hermione if you would. I'd like to do it as soon as possible. If you don't mind, Sose?'

Sose shook her head hard enough she blushed. 'No! I mean, let's do it soon.'

Kreacher cheered, and then broke out in a strange shuffling dance. 'Babies for Kreacher! Babies for Mistress! Babies babies babies!'

'Just go, you manky little berk!'

'Should we get Master Anu?'

'Please do.'

Anu ran back in. 'Is everything...Nene?'

'We're getting married, Anu. Sirius and me.'

Anu's grin rivalled Kreacher's. Sose sat down and sent for her stationary. She had letters to write. She, the daughter of shepherds, mother to a child born out of wedlock, a shepherdess, was marrying Sirius Black, the kindest, gentlest man she'd ever met. Overwhelmed by her good fortune, she could not even find it in herself to cry. Instead, she invited the Vatas and Ismailis to the wedding, and then, when she was alone, burst into joyful, bewildered tears, amazed at the way things had turned out.

Which is why, a day later, Sirius Black was standing still as a madly grinning Kreacher pinned a flower to the collar of the dress-robes he'd borrowed from Rodolphus.

Next to him, Snape was staring into the middle distance, an expression fixed on it that was potentially supposed to be pleasant except that, being Snape, it looked like he was in pain or contemplating hexing everyone in sight.

'Well' said Snape finally 'I do hope you'll not get drunk and make some sort of terrible scene.'

'Thank you, Snape. I value your encouragement.'

'I mean it, Black. I won't have you acting as poor example for the children.'

'I shan't touch a drop or grope a single woman.'

'You had best not.'

Snape glowered fiercely at him and Sirius laughed softly. He wished James were there, James with his jokes and his ability to smile without looking like he was about to bite someone.

'It will be fine. It will be fun, even.'

'Hmmph, I should doubt it.'

'Shut up, you wanker. Have you got the ring?'

'I am far ahead of you, Black.' Still, Snape carefully opened the pocket of his robes and showed the velvet box nestled inside.

'It is traditional to offer one's best wishes, you grotty son of a bitch.'

'I hope it turns green and rots off, you bastard.'

'I'd wish you the same, but it would hardly make a difference, so...'

'I despise you.'

Anu's head poked through the curtains. 'Baba, are we ready? Nene's waiting.'

'Shite! I mean, er, yes, of course.'

Anu came closer and half flung himself against Sirius, and then opened his other arm. Snape stepped into the embrace, causing Anu to grin even harder. Sirius was half-convinced the kid's jaw was going to drop off with all the smiling he'd been doing.

'Now I have two fathers!'

Sirius laughed and hugged him hard. Above Anu's head, Snape grimaced at him. 'I loathe you' he mouthed at Sirius, who laughed harder and mouthed back. 'Greasy bastard.'

Then the three of them were walking to where, to Sirius's disbelief, his bride was waiting. Well, James, he thought, eyes prickling, never thought you'd see this, did you? He smiled, knowing his friend was with him, and Lily too, and that he was well-cared for.

Sose looked beautiful. She was wearing a new dress, and Hermione had lent her own veil to cover her hair. When she saw him, she went pink and dropped her head, staring at her shoes.

Anu led him proudly and joined Sirius's hand to his mother's. His eye was sparkling with tears but he was still grinning. Sirius winked at him and turned to the official who was to marry them.

'Do you both come freely to this union?'

'I do.'

Sose nodded, too overcome to speak. 'Y-y-es!'

'Is there some impediment preventing your marriage?'

'No.'

'No.'

'Do you here, in the sight of God and these assembled witnesses, declare your intent to be wed now and for all time?'

'I do.'

'I do.'

The under-secretary or whomever the man was nodded to an assistant, who brought forth the marriage license. Sirius and Sose both signed it, and then, very carefully, Sirius slipped the ring on her finger. It had been his mother's, and it fitted perfectly, without needing to be altered a bit.

'Then I declare that Sirius Orion Black and Sose Tamm are married. Let you live!'

'Let you live!'

The witnesses echoed, and it was done. Sirius was a married man. He suspected Sose would not like being publicly kissed (had she ever been kissed at all?), so he bent and pecked her cheek instead.

After there was feasting, and the wolves danced for them, and the aurors, brought to Sofia to celebrate the happy occasion, paraded, and sang songs of their homelands to give best wishes for the marriage.

That was the easy part. The hard part was now, as Sirius, who, true to his word, had touched not a drop, let himself be pushed along by a riotous mass of kinsmen, lords, wolves and assorted well-wishers and shoved behind a screen. He was startled when they promptly stripped him, whispering randy comments, and then shoved him into bed with the shocked-looking Sose, and then, at last, left them alone.

Sirius rolled to lift himself on his elbow. Sose, beside him, was flat on her back, panting shallowly. Her eyes were dinner plates, and her hands were curled convulsively about the top of the duvet.

'Sose?'

She whimpered. Sirius could smell her fear, and as he watched her eyes overflowed, tears running down both cheeks. 'S-sorry, I'm s-sorry!'

'No, shhh. Don't be sorry. Why don't I go and sit on the chair there, all right?'

She managed a nod and he did just that, transforming to spare her his nakedness and stepping behind the screen to call for a nightshirt before he re-emerged. Kreacher looked sternly at him, and Sirius shook his head frantically, shrugging.

'Sose? Love, let's talk about this.'

'It-I-don't you want me now?'

Sirius sat down, not looking directly at her. 'I want to do what's going to make you comfortable, all right?'

'We're married.'

'I know.'

'You needn't ask. We're married.'

'I do need to ask. I think the first rule in our family, Sose, should be that no one need do things which make them uncomfortable or afraid. Is that fair?'

She nodded jerkily, eyes wide. 'A-all right.'

'So until you're comfortable, I'll sleep over here.'

Her eyes widened more. Sirius swished his wand at the chair, rising, and it transformed into a bed. Kreacher silently brought bedding and in minutes Sirius was stretched out, not uncomfortably.

'Are you all right, love?'

She finally blinked. 'Don't you...did I...?'

'When you're ready.'

'What if I'm never ready?'

Sirius considered gravely. 'Then I expect we will need to install a more permanent bed. Other than that, I am pleased that you were so brave in discussing this with me. How do you feel?'

Sose stared at him as though he had three heads. 'You aren't angry?'

'Not a bit.'

'Why?' She went violently red, as though scared by her own daring. Sirius smiled, still looking past rather than at her.

'Things take time, is all.'

'Oh. As long as you're sure.'

'I'm sure.'

Sirius waited for her to fall asleep before he rose, in his nightshirt, and pad to the window. Since the scene in Sherer he had been, if not exactly afraid to sleep, uneasy with it. He hadn't had nightmares like this since Azkaban.

When Sirius Black slept he saw things, and what he saw was this:

_Unusually for the coldest summer in living memory, and any memory going back to 1703, the sun had been beating down. As Salazar, the pack of feral dogs with him, he had stood under a tree and watched, panting, the heat shimmering, as Greyback's boys spread out._

_Brutal-faced, stinking, lice-ridden, grinning, teeth snagged and broken from fights, boots dropping clots of mud laced with excrement on the tidy streets, hands red and maroon, exuding a charnel smell from their open mouths, they smashed doors and charged inside, emerging seconds later with children tucked under their arms, some of them tiny, some of them nearly school-aged, screaming, crying, the wolves draging them toward the waiting lorries, throwing them inside, hexing parents, hitting parents, killing parents._

_And the screams. Sirius understands, now, why Draco's nightmares were screams and screams on screams. He heard it too, endless shrill wailing, screams of despair and horror. A woman, baby to her breast, runs forward, wand drawn, to defend a howling little boy and a wolf grabs the baby and swings it by the ankles against the closest wall. A sickening splat, a popping, a splash of blood, the little body falling limp._

_ Sirius taking it all in, unable to help, unable to stop this as the lorries clang shut and rise into the sky toward Scotland, the parents screaming until one by one they stop and trudge back inside, the silence as bad as the screaming, worse, Sirius turning back to Apparate to Snape to tell him what he'd seen, Sose's face and Anu's in his mind's eye, seeing them again someday, knowing he could nothing else here, knowing he couldn't save anyone, any more than he'd saved Reg so long ago, or James and Lily, or Frank and Alice, and under it all a nauseating relief that none of his loved ones were here or in those lorries, that everyone he loved was safe._

'Sirius?'

'Sose?'

She sat up, tugging her nightgown's neckline up. 'What's the matter?'

'Flashback.'

'Oh. I've had those.'

'Have you?'

She nodded. 'Anu's...when those men...'

'Ah.'

She got up, slowly, wand in hand before she blanched and set it down. She looked very small to him as she came to his side. 'Tell me about it?'

'It's really horrible.'

'I know.'

'I don't want it to scare you.'

'Everything scares me.' She tilted her head to study him, and Sirius smiled a little. She was tough, he thought delighted, and she had a sense of humour. This could work. This could be good.

So he told her. All of it, and she listened, and asked if they could sit down, so they did. 'Sherer wasn't the only one. Two more got hit that day. Wendishtown and someplace else, and those are the ones I know about.'

Sose stood up and extended her hand, very slowly, in order to touch his arm. 'Are you tired?'

He took her hand a second. 'I am. You?'

They each took something. Sirius Black spent his wedding night in a makeshift bed, but feeling fairly optimistic for it, plagued by no dreams, and attended by a manky, half-demented arse of an elf who looked altogether too satisfied for his own good, or at least for Sirius's.

In Britain, Cunegarde Lestrange Wilkes Mulciber Lestrange, soon to add Feathering to all that, was quite satisfied herself. She was holding a mug of tea, and she had Rodolphus's wife to torment, always a bonus. Behind the charm the woman's mouth had a sulky cast to it, which pleased Cunegarde even further.

'So?'

'So what, you old harpy?'

'The girl, you baggage, the girl. How is she?'

Rodolphus's wife took out some pictures and handed them over. The girl and her husband waving at the camera, laughing; the girl and Abraxas's son's wife in a meadow, sitting on a blanket; the girl, smiling at the camera, pink-cheeked and looking subtly older, more like her wretched mother.

'She is rather pretty now. Always knew she would grow out of the gawky stage.'

'No thanks to you.'

'We can't all wear shapeless black sacks and too much rouge!'

'You would know about the last one!'

The two women subsided, the ritual exchange finished. 'Her magic?'

'Extraordinary. She summoned a corporal Patronus whilst I was there.'

Cunegarde's hand, weak with arthritis, nearly lost its grip on her cup. 'Thank the ancestors.'

'I met Gellert Grindelwald.'

'Oh?'

'He's a monster.'

'An interesting one, though.' Cunegarde smiled a little and sipped her tea. Rodolphus's wife set down her own cup, eyes opening wide.

'My God, you didn't!'

'As if it's any business of yours.'

'You did!'

'He was interesting and I was currently between husbands.' She sipped a little more tea, relishing that could still get a rise out of the younger woman.

'I did wonder why he asked after you.'

'Did he?'

'He was telling stories about-' The woman gestured and Cunegarde's head snapped up in acknowledgement.

'Oh? And what did we learn?'

Rodolphus's wife dismissed her with a wave. 'Expect you'd know.'

'Indeed I do. I want to know what you know.'

'The rumours about his father being a muggle are true, Grindelwald says.'

'Quite so. What else?'

The woman waved again. 'We spoke for three hours, he said quite a lot.'

'All that time? Someone will say you're in love.'

'The girl was there.'

'Listening?'

'Sewing. She still makes shirts for the boy.'

Cunegarde nodded, pleased. 'No doubt. Dear Grindelwald had nothing else to say of note?'

Rodolphus's wife frowned a little. 'Not that I can recall.'

Cunegarde nodded rustily, feeling the tendons in her neck creaking as she moved her head. 'And now Abraxas's son is married.'

' Grandson, and yes, he is. Sirius too, but we missed that wedding.'

'How is your sister dealing with her son's marriage?'

Rodolphus's wife considered. 'She's unhappy.'

'Did he impregnate the girl? Is that why they've married so suddenly?'

'Not that I know of. They wanted to be married before the fighting starts.'

'And Sirius?'

'The same, I would think.'

Cunegarde sighed softly. She wished she could live long enough to see the babies that would come from those unions, and the ones the boy would give the girl someday. Sturdy Slavic babies, strong thick bones and heads of wavy Lestrange hair.

She wouldn't, though. In her own bones, weak and arthritic, she had a sense that death as coming, that death, longed for through the endless decades, was coming soon, getting closer.

'Erasmus has asked me to marry him.'

'You've accepted?'

'I have.'

Rodolphus's wife nodded. 'Congratulations.'

'Best do it quickly, madam. News from the Dark Lord.' The elf hadn't announced the Halfblood (the good one). He simply came in, all inky darkness. Cunegarde gestured to the chair closest the ladies' and he sat in it.

'Halfblood.'

'Snape.'

'Ladies. Yseult Ropion arrives tonight from Aix. The Dark Lord has demanded her uncle surrender her and Morreau has agreed to save his own skin.'

'Does the girl know?'

'She does not. We can't stop it. He's planning the wedding as we speak.'

'The girl is fifteen.'

'My lady Krum was fourteen.'

They sat in numb silence a moment and then the Halfblood spoke again. 'He has ordered Walden Mcnair to make sure to invite you especially, Bellatrix.'

'All of us, or just me?'

'All of you. Yourself, Rodolphus, Rabastan, Eugenia, Narcissa, Draco. He means to purge you all in one fell swoop.'

'Does he?' Rodolphus's wife grinned, of all things. Her hand found her wand.

'He might kill me, but if I get a shot at him...'

'No!' The Halfblood's voice was hard. 'Don't be stupid, Bellatrix. He'll expect it. You'll Portkey when the time comes.'

'Without a fight?'

'Your daughter needs you to help win the war.'

'And the old people, Snape? What, shall we simply abandon them? I could easily leave great Aunt to her fate, but Erasmus? And Martin, what of him?'

The Halfblood's mouth was a tight line. 'I will consult with Madam Lestrange about it.'

Rodolphus's wife looked at her. 'What do you think, you old harridan? We could Portkey you all. Tonight, if you wish.'

Cunegarde set down her cup. 'Leave us, woman. The Halfblood and I will hash this out.'

Rodolphus's wife, surprisingly, did it, and the two were alone but for loyal Linky, who wavered where she floated, sagging face set in lines of concern.

'When is this wedding, Halfblood?'

'A week from tonight.'

'More than enough time for us to get our affaires in order.'

'Madam?'

Cunegarde huffed. 'We cannot be taken alive. Surely you realise that. Our age and Martin's...debility...would not protect us. I do not mean to be the prisoner of the likes of that grimy little opportunist, however briefly.'

The Halfblood was nodding slowly. 'I will give you whatever you need, should you decide to...decide, but I will not dose the others unless they wish to be dosed.'

'Ask them. Erasmus, I am sure, is of like mind. Martin's beliefs, I think, preclude that as a solution, but mention it him. I am not terribly familiar with exactly what the rules are.'

The Halfblood nodded. 'You don't mean to fight, then? I rather thought you'd planned a final stand.'

'Of course I have, but what are the odds it will play out that way? I expect he will want to take us quietly, all at once. It will hard enough for him to explain purging the Lestranges and Malfoys. He will no doubt want to deny us the opportunity to make any sort of statement.'

'May I send for the gentlemen?'

'Send for Erasmus. Speak to Martin in private.'

Erasmus was chipper, bright eyed. 'Oh, it's you, Charon.'

'Severus, sir, Severus Snape.'

'That's right. Madam Cunegarde has consented to my wife, did you know that?'

'I did. May you have much joy of your union.'

'I daresay. Now, young man, why are you here?'

Cunegarde leant as far as she could to take Rassie's hand. 'Eramus, we mightn't have long.'

'Of course not, we are a hundred and twenty...I don't recall. Old.'

'The Dark Lord is coming for us soon. Do you wish them to send us abroad?'

Erasmus shook his head at once. 'Indeed no. My place is here, as ever. But you, my dear, should go. I should like you to live.'

Cunegarde patted his hand. 'I should like to live, but it may well benefit the family more if I did not. And I would so hate to leave you.'

'Then we shall both stay. What about Martin? He is young, and strong. Not in his mind, but then, neither am I.'

'He will have a choice, Rassie, but he may wish to stay as well.'

'His son will be so hurt when he hears about this.' Erasmus looked at his hands, considering the girl's husband.

'He will.'

'We must do it so they do not know, Gardie. Let them find out later, when this thing is over. Young man, you will help us, will you not? They are so very young.'

'I will do my utmost, sir.'

'Please do. I would have liked more time with them, and their baby.'

'That's Eugenia's baby, Erasmus.'

'Of course he is, but I would have liked more time all the same. Ah, well. How long do we have, Charon?'

'A week, sir.'

'Very good. Gardie and I will honeymoon early, upstairs, with our pictures. Our bones will not lie in the cellar, one expects, with the others.'

The Halfblood leant closer. 'I will see you honoured for your sacrifice.'

'And my wives, and my parents. Gardie's too. Well, not wives.'

'Your lines, forever.'

'Thank you. The snake might have my hats. Give Desmond the pictures, he will want them. His wife is going to have a baby. Do you suppose they will tell it about us?'

'Yes, I expect they will.' The Halfblood's voice was low and calm, hands folded in his lap.

'Then all will be well. All manner of things will be well.'

'I hope so.'

'Gardie, what do you think? Are you ready to go?'

'I have been ready for eighty years, Erasmus.'

'And we shall have a week together. I think that sounds just right.'

'So do I.' She smiled at him, and he smiled back. The Halfblood was looking away, giving them privacy. She saw him murmur something to an elf and the elf brought back two small phials.

'Will there be pain, Halfblood?'

'No. No pain.'

'All right, then. Do not tell the young people. They would try to stop us.'

'No doubt.'

'Send Bellatrix back in, I should like to speak to her.'

The Halfblood did it. 'Aunt?'

'Those miniatures I gave you. Where are they?'

'My sitting room.'

'Give them to Linky. I would like to look at them, and then I would have your daughter have them.'

The woman nodded. 'All right. I've pictures, if you want them.'

She handed over a small bundle of pictures, and then the ones of the girl and the other children. Cunegarde nodded slowly, and asked Erasmus to withdraw, which he did.

'How is my lady Krum, Bellatrix?'

'Hermione is fine.'

'Her magic is...?'

'Powerful, as always. She conjured a Patronus whilst we was there.'

'Oh? What is it?'

'A doe.' Rodolphus's wife's response was off-hand, hardly even noting what she was saying.

An interesting thing happened when she said that, Cunegarde noticed. The Halfblood's eyes flickered, and for a half a second Cunegarde could sense the mask lifting, however slightly. She wondered what it meant, what he was thinking. Then it slammed back into place, and the Halfblood nodded stiffly.

'I shall tell her tonight about the French girl.'

'Do. She'll know we can't...it will be hard.'

'Hard is rather my forte, had you not noticed?'

'So is irritating, but I didn't need to mention it, it's implied.'

The two glared at one another and then Bellatrix stood up. 'Well, that's my good deed for this year.'

'Go on, then. Halfblood, you will stay on a bit.'

'I must needs speak to Mr. Krum as it is.'

'Quite so.'

When Bellatrix was gone, Cunegarde gave the Halfblood a look. 'Who was she, Halfblood?'

'Sorry?'

'The doe. What does it mean to you?'

'Someone I loved.'

'And still do.'

'And still do.'

Cunegarde nodded slowly. 'Where do you find her?'

'In the girl. Her kindness, her intelligence, her will to help others.'

'Is that why you've assisted her, my great-great niece?'

'Not completely.'

'But it was a factor?'

'It was. When you-when you scared her, she asked me about what she should do. I told her to continue to visit you.'

'Because it was good? It was right?' Cunegarde half-spit the words.

'Because I told her you were good training, and you were. But she found compassion in herself for you. It reminded me of...the doe.'

Cunegarde nodded once. 'You have courage, I shall give you that. You don't shrink from things. You will sleep tonight, knowing what has to happen.'

'Yes.'

Cunegarde looked round. 'Martin can never go back to Bulgaria. There is no place for him there. His presence would weaken their position, make the others doubt the boy's sanity. He would, at best, be confined to a madhouse.' Or a set of rooms someplace, but it was much the same in the end.

'I am aware. I cannot outright murder him, you understand? Even I must shrink from something.'

'You can convince him that this is the only way.'

'I can.'

'You must. For all of them.'

'Indeed.'

She looked at him, lizard-like, and he looked back. Then Cunegarde smiled a little, ancient face cracking.

'You have earnt your name, Severus Snape. You may kiss me.' She offered him her cheek and he did it, and then went to find Martin, to explain why he need die.

Above Cunegarde, Linky was murmuring worriedly. 'Mistress?'

'Linky?'

'Is there enough poison for elves too? Linky wishes to die with Mistress and Master Erasmus. The others will as well.'

'Most devoted, Linky, but no. You will need to make sure we remain undefiled.'

'And then poison?'

'And then Bulgaria. I won't have my great-great-great nephews and nieces brought up as smelly foreigners. They will need your influence to help them avoid such a thing.'

Linky nodded. 'Linky will tell the others.'

'Do. And Linky?'

'Mistress?'

'Bring the miniatures to me. I wish to have them a while before I die.'

'Yes, Mistress.'

The elf drifted closer and Cunegarde gave her a pat. 'It's been an interesting century and some. I shall miss seeing the drama played out to the end. Still, we have fought the good fight, haven't we?'

Linky, who'd been the children's nanny, nodded. 'Yes, Mistress.'

'We must compose our letters. Let us start with the one to the Dark Lord.'

'Mistress?'

'I still mean to make a stand, Linky. Only-it's much more elegant this way, isn't it?'

They set to work, and then looked at pictures into the night. It was pleasant. Cunegarde felt the excitement of a coming holiday in her chest. Soon, my darlings, soon. Soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

**Suicide is an incredibly hard thing to deal with, both IRL and in a fictional context. I am attempting to do this as sensitively, kindly and honestly as possible. Please feel free to PM me to discuss concerns you might have.  
**


	71. Chapter 71

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**My laptop is acting funny again, so things aren't great in terms of being able to write as quickly as I'd like. Oh, well :/**

**Thanks for all the good feedback last chapters. It really does mean a lot to me.**

Snape went directly to Martin Krum. The man lived in a rambling, isolated room in the cupola of the house, and welcomed Snape with courtly, if slightly dim, courtesy. He looked very like the boy, or rather, the boy like him, down to the impressive eyebrows and Roman nose. He was shorter than his son and stockier, what had once been impressive muscle gone to fat, but he was still an imposing figure until one noticed his eyes, which were hazel-green and distant, as though he were scanning some bleak inner shore.

'Professor Snape?'

'Mr. Krum.'

'How are you?'

'Well, sir. And yourself?'

Martin gestured for Snape to sit down, which he did. 'News of my son?'

'Lord Krum is well. My lady is also well. Draco Malfoy has married Vaike Kask and Sirius Black has married Sose Tamm.'

'How nice.'

'It is likely that the Dark Lord will look to purge the residents of this house soon, Mr. Krum.'

'Purge?'

'Kill.'

'Ah. For what reason?'

'There will be a war soon.'

Martin inclined his head. 'How terrible.'

'Yes, it is. We could have you taken to Sofia when the time comes, via Portkey.'

Martin tilted his head. 'You find that inadvisable?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

Martin called for tea, something sharp and herbal. Snape rolled it subtly about his mouth, trying to guess the constituents of the blend.

'If we do it too quickly, than we will have tipped our hand. If we do it too late, you will be captured and tortured for whatever information you have.'

'And?'

'There is no guarantee that it would work. The house will be watched, carefully. Likely it already is. '

'The elders?'

'Have elected to stay.'

'To be tortured?'

'No. When they come the elders will be...beyond mortal pain.'

'Ah.' Martin drank tea and said nothing for an awkwardly long time. Snape felt his skin prickling ever-so-slightly, unsure of why.

'The priests' said Martin finally 'would tell me to Portkey. It is a grave sin, amongst my people, to end things for oneself.'

'Yes.' Snape shook off the image of Eileen's body that was fighting to come to the fore. This was not that, he was not sixteen, and things weren't at all the same.

'If I did this...I have failed as a father, Professor. Profoundly, I have failed. But perhaps I need not fail as a man, or a Bulgarian. Perhaps some of my sin might be wiped clean if I...'

'Sacrifice yourself.'

'Yes.'

'I will give you a phial.'

'No. Have the elf do it. I do not find it unlikely there should be some loophole someplace. And I suppose, if He is God, then He will understand.'

Snape bent toward him. 'It's a noble thing you do, Mr. Krum.'

'Would you do it? For the girl?'

Snape didn't hesitate. 'Yes.'

'Is she yours? Zhivka thought so.'

'I am not nearly that fortunate.'

'Nor I. But I had my son for fourteen good years, and did my best. When he remembers me, I hope it is that, not what I have become, that he recalls.'

'If you wish to write him, I will deliver the letters personally.'

'Tell him to care for his mother. And that, despite all, I have never stopped loving him.'

'I will tell him.'

'Then I am happy. My son will live, and my country. It is enough.'

Snape, unaccountably, wanted to ease the man's pain. 'You will be remembered as a martyr.'

'If I am remembered as more than a failure, it will be more than I have merited.'

Martin finished his tea and said nothing, and Snape understood the interview to be over. He rose swiftly, bowed, and went to tell the children that Yseult Ropion was the latest sacrifice in the cause to destroy the Dark Lord.

It went exactly how Snape expected it to. Or rather, the first part. Once the girl had accepted that the situation was not mutable at the moment, she'd got an odd, resigned look in her eyes.

'You've done your best, Professor.'

'I have, my lady. And we will save your friend, never doubt.'

'I know.' She smiled at him, looking very tired. 'We've sent word about the wolves' mobilising to the other countries. They all want to come to discuss it.'

'Have you been sleeping? Eating?'

He glowered fiercely, wishing he was there. She looked peaky to him, and it would be easier if he were there to make her eat real meals and sleep when she needed. And it might, he found himself musing, be very pleasant to have her leant against him, as she sometimes did. For her own good, of course.

'I have. We're having a real problem-ohhhh-with camp followers. Every painted lady in Bulgaria is at one of the camps, and we can't-ohhh-exactly send them home because the troops like them.' She had yawned twice in the midst of the sentence.

'Go to bed, my lady.'

'I can't. Too much to do before they arrive.'

'Bed. Now.'

She shook her head. 'I made a Patronus, did Mother tell you?'

'She did. Now bed.'

She smiled a little. 'And she taught me a new spell too.'

'We shall discuss it tomorrow. After you have slept.'

'Just for a little while.'

Snape didn't exactly smile, but he did soften his features as much as he could and still be Snape. 'Good girl.'

She beamed, looking like the irrepressible, naughty, loveable child he'd mentored so long ago. 'I've always wanted to hear that from you.'

'You shan't ever again if you don't go directly.'

She might have bantered a bit more if Mippy hadn't shown in a shaking Llewellyn Rice, who bowed to the girl and then sat down, piratical face cheesy. 'Dementors' he said simply.

'What's happened, Rice?'

'Sherer and Wendishtown and Wizard's Ford. All three towns are gone.'

'What?'

From the Floo the girl blanched also. 'Mr. Rice?'

'Was this a containment breach, Rice?'

'I don't...people were complaining about the children being taken. I think he wanted to make sure they stopped.'

Snape forced his voice to remain level. 'Thank you for telling us.'

'He's not...he's not having it cleaned up. I was there when the order came. He's just leaving them all there to rot as a warning.'

The girl made a small horrified noise. 'That's terrible.'

'My lady, could I send my daughter to you? She's two, Dora is two.'

'Of course, Mr. Rice. Professor?'

'I will see to it. Go to Lestrange House, Rice, you and whomever else. Meet me in twenty minutes.'

The girl's once sleepy demeanour had faded. 'I'm calling everyone to come tonight, Professor.'

'Do. Let me know what happens.'

'You, too. Say hello to my parents for me.'

'I shall. Be safe, please. Be careful. You've been taking your phials?'

'All of us have. Alise and Vaike and myself. Will you give Yseult some?'

'I will try.'

She raised a hand as though to touch him and pulled it back. Snape wished he could smooth her hair or something. She seemed to like that.

'It is not unlikely, my lady, that you will see them soon. Your parents, your aunts and uncles, even Nagini, hopefully.'

'And yourself, Professor?'

'As the ancestors will it, my lady.' He didn't tell her the answer was almost surely no. Martin Krum had asked whether he would die for the girl; before the week was over, he might well have done.

But it would not do to tell her that. She would come up with some scheme to save him, and it could well work. Instead he watched her until the Floo cut off. Our girl, Lily, is so brave now. And so big. When did she get this old?

He smelt apples, like Lily's shampoo, and rested on his heels for a second before he went to deal with this next crisis.

He wasn't the only one. In Varna, Anu Tamm rubbed his good eye and swore under his breath. He had a major headache coming on, and the day was far from over, for all dark was falling quickly.

The first 'enemy' ships were coming into view. Half the decommissioned ships had been painted white to mark them, and these white-painted ships came into view over the horizon, moving hard and fast. They almost glowed in the dying light, the figures on them moving like ants. Their flagship, the Hag, was out front, colours flying.

The captain touched his shoulder, mindful of his blind side. 'At your orders, lad.'

'Aye, sir.' He stood up straighter and raised his voice as loud as it would go, hoping it wouldn't crack this time.

'BATTLE STATIONS, MEN!'

The sailors leapt into action, as the steersman brought the ship aloft and the others darted below. Anu gestured to the man in the crow's nest, who lifted the first of the flags above them.

'ATTACK SPEED!'

The ships sped up. Anu felt a moment of pure, fierce joy, grinning as air whipped his face and blew into his good eye. The enemy was gaining on them and Anu frowned, wondering how to evade them.

'ASCEND AND HARD TO STARBOARD!'

He could hear the officers echoing the command, and the ships jerked straight up and went hard to starboard, which lost the enemy valuable time as they had to compensate for the change in direction.

A white ship moved into view, flying a blue flag-the 'enemy' colours. Anu saw them at once. 'Their flagship! Do I hail them?'

'Try, lad.'

Anu swished his wand to temporarily undo the charms which scrambled their orders to keep the enemy from intercepting them.

'HAG, THIS IS THE UNICORN. SURRENDER AND WE WILL GIVE QUARTER.'

'UNICORN, THIS IS THE HAG. GET STUFFED.'

'FIRE THEM, MEN!'

The troops opened fire. In drill, of course, they were firing green paint at the enemy, who was firing blue at them. One of Anu's tasks was coordinating teams to make sure that none was caught in the 'crossfire' or else managed to catch their own deck on 'fire'. Three of his ships, out of ten, caught, two of them slightly and one of them lost to their own zeal.

'Watch your sides, Mr. Tamm!'

Anu spun in time to see the enemy flagship sailing straight at them. No time to go up...'DROP, STEERSMAN!'

The ship lost twenty metres of altitude and narrowly missed the attack. Three of their fleetmates flew to cover them from the paint-fire as they recovered and then the fleet regrouped.

'What now, lad?'

'Wedge formation?'

'Try it.' The captain grinned. Anu sensed the captain liked him and that made him glad. He felt good up here, and he wanted everyone to feel good as well.

'WEDGE FORMATION!'

The ships formed up and flew toward the clustered enemy fleet, trying to break the mass into small groups that could then be flown down and destroyed.

'OPEN WEDGE!'

Like a great steel flower, the wedge snapped open, cutting the opposing fleet into thirds. Many small battles broke out as the fractured enemy engaged Anu's fleet. He moved to the fo'castle to watch.

'What shall we do, lad?'

'Board them?'

'Right.'

'PREPARE TO BOARD, MEN!'

The closest aurors drew their wands as sailors with grappling hooks waited until they were in range. The hooks caught, and Anu jumped up, prepared to lead by example.

'FOR BULGARIA, FOR SERBIA, FOR TURKEY, LITHUANIA AND ROMANIA! ATTACK!'

Anu didn't wait to see if they were following him. He jumped, landed hard on the enemy's deck and started to fire. They were firing paint as well, and soon he had acquired a thick coating of it, still firing, driving the enemy back and back.

He felt something wet and sticky hit him solidly in the head and went down, wanting to be a good sport. He laid still as one of the men-his?-grabbed him under the arms and handed him to someone else. He could hear the true captain shouting orders and laid still, hoping he hadn't ruined the man's tunic who'd lifted him up.

A horn rang out. 'Time!'

'Sir, the tally is in.'

Anu stood up, wiping blue paint from his eyes. 'The toll, captain?'

'Five ships of the dozen, four hundred men, and yourself.'

'Did we win?'

'No, lad. We did come closer than last time, but we didn't win by a long shot.'

'What did I do wrong?' Anu felt plaintive. This time it was only paint but soon it wouldn't be. He couldn't be an admiral if he couldn't keep his men alive.

'You did well, lad. Just remember to watch your sides. They got into your flanks and that's where you lost most of your ships. Once you've got the cutters, that'll help.'

Anu felt a little better. 'The wounded?'

'Evacuated safely, sir.' They had an old sloop designated as a stand-in for the Sose, complete with terrified-looking trainee-healers.

'So it wasn't too bad.'

'Not too bad at all.' The captain ruffled his hair. The man seemed to give not a fig for the supposed difference in their rank, and for that Anu was glad. It was all well and good for him to be the natural son of Agon Pojani, and write frequent if stilted letters to the man's father, but he didn't feel like a lord. He felt like a shepherd and a sailor and an aide de camp.

'Sir? Shall we call an end for tonight?'

'Yes, please.'

The steersman brought them down, the rest of the fleet following. Anu wanted a shower and a change of clothes and some hot goat soup. He was pleased to see Yana and his mother and stepfather waiting for them.

'Hello!'

'Anu! We saw you! You were so brave!' Yana ran forward, ignoring the men who bowed to her, and Anu swung her up to kiss her cheek and then set her down before he smeared her with paint.

'Thank you, Yana.'

'Yana, love, go with Kreacher a moment.'

Baba Sirius looked grim. 'Baba?'

'Kiddo, things in Britain are much worse. Need you to get cleaned up and come to Sofia, all right?'

Anu didn't even answer him. He spun and sprinted for the showers. Ten minutes later, shaking water from his short dark hair, he was holding Baba Sirius' arm to Apparate.

They were the last in the room. Everyone was there already. Anu was too used to these meetings now; he took his spot like an old hand, hoping it wasn't as bad as he suspected it was.

Hermione looked awful. Her lips were colourless as she summed up what had happened in Britain.

'He loosed them on purpose?' Baba Sirius looked as bad as Hermione. Worse, even, like he was going to collapse. Nene touched his arm and he forced a smile but it looked wrong, as though someone had put rouge on a corpse.

'We think he did. If all goes according to plan most of the family should be here no later than Saturday.'

'That's a relief, at least.'

'What about the old people?' Drago, sitting with Vaike, spoke up.

'Snape didn't say.' It hung in the room a moment and then they simply moved past it, knowing that no answer could be a good one.

'So what's our next move, then?' Paavo, blunt as always.

'You tell me. Are the troops close to ready?'

'This batch? Another few weeks and they'll be good to go. But we have one more group minimum and two would be ideal.'

'We might not have time for that. We might need to move if he's openly loosing Dementors on civilians.'

'We have the dragons now; we could conceivably fight the Dementors.'

Viktor was shaking his head. 'What will we do after, though? Even without the Dementors, we'll have to contend with one of the best-trained armies in Europe, and the wolves. We'll have to fight city to city like it is. I'd rather be fully-trained and use the dragons as the deciding factor.'

'Do we have time for that?'

'We will need to make time.' Uncle Penko spoke up from his usual place. He was typically quiet during these planning sessions. His hair, which was silver and quite long, was as well-groomed as ever, but he looked very tired. They all did.

'How do you propose, Uncle?'

'We have called all our vassals and ministers here to discuss matters. I propose we utilise the other ministers by asking some of them to make contact with the Dark Lord and offer to make diplomatic connexions with him.'

Everyone was listening intently, so Uncle Penko went on. 'We'll ask them to send their people there to 'train' with their fighters. When the time comes, they will neutralise or defect the Britons in their charge and bring us into the country.'

'Will they do it?'

'I expect so.'

'Can we reasonably expect the fighters to defect, if given the option?'

Pavel spoke up. 'My lady, I cannot speak for your countrymen, of course. But my men in Britain seem to think it will take very little for their wolves to flip. If the conditions being reported in Britain are accurate, it seems likely to me that the average citizen will grow less hostile the longer things go.'

Scabior was nodding. 'Nicolae's rite, milady. Wunce they sees the Dark Lord doan care fer em none, it'll makes sum of em willin to try the other opshun, seems t me.'

'If nothing else' said Drago, sounding sad 'once the fighting starts, a lot of them will want to go home. What if we offered them an amnesty? They can just go home.'

'That's a good idea, Draco.'

Vaike fiddled with her scarf impatiently. 'He's got their kids. We don't have that kind of leverage over them. The single people, maybe, but the parents will want to do whatever spares their kids.'

'Of course they will. We'll be able to evacuate a lot of them from the cities.'

'And the ones in the country?'

'That will be harder, admittedly.'

Baba Sirius touched his chin thoughtfully. 'There's going to be a corps of hardline true believers. We can safely write them off, I expect. They'll fight to the end. The ones to try to reach are the ones who don't care much either way, or who don't believe very deeply.'

Vaike shook her head. 'I think we can reach them if we delay. If we attack too soon, they'll have the resources to want to fight to the end. If we wait and try to starve them out, and he does nothing...or if we could find a way to make his madness obvious...even the true believers will start to waver.'

'How do we do that, though?'

Viktor put his head down for a moment and then raised it, looking sick. 'We'll need to start guerilla actions immediately. Hermione, what do you think?'

Hermione slipped a hand into his for a second. 'Mr. Pavel, have the wolves assembled by nine AM, we'll stay up tonight and figure out a basic strategy.'

'May I speak?'

'Do, Mr. Pavel.'

'We should start in Wales. Once we've liberated the encampment it will add to our ranks considerably.'

'Most of the people left in the camps are children and those too infirm to fight.'

'It will demoralise the fighters if we take them. And give them a reason to want to defect.'

'It would weaken his position, too, wouldn't it? Greyback? If he can't keep us out of his house, he can't keep us out of Britain.'

'Good, Anu, that's exactly right.'

'And then what?'

Pavel looked down. 'We start destroying things they need. Blowing up essential industries, firing crops, disrupting the Floo network and owl mail, strikes to their morale and important cultural centres. War, my lord.'

Viktor swallowed hard. 'Do it. Hermione?'

'I agree. Minister, when will the others arrive?'

'By ten tonight, my lady.'

'Good. Morreau as well?'

'So he says.'

Anu wasn't exactly holding his breath, but sometimes life surprises us all the same. At nine o'clock the vassals started arriving, beginning with bluff Vidanov and the nervous Anastas Dinev, father of Zenobia.  
By ten, when the Ministers had settled down, the meeting room of the Conclave was packed full. Anu could feel the tension in the room, like they were balanced on wire.

As soon as he'd sat down, Viktor was on his feet. 'My lords and ladies, honoured ministers, priests and citizens, we have called you because our time is grown short. Britain is mobilising, my in-laws should arrive within the week or so, and the Dark Lord has taken deliberate hostile action against his own people.'

No one seemed surprised at the news of the fate of the people of Sherer, Wendishtown and Wizard's Ford. Disgusted but not especially surprised, and why should they? They had known it would come to this.

'Are the troops ready, my lord?'

'This current group has a few weeks to go before they are ready. The next group will need the full amount of time, which means perhaps two or three months. It is conceivable that we cannot wait so long.'

Morreau stood tremulously. He had just been reunited with his wife, and he held her head in his, moustaches trembling.

'My lord, we must rescue my niece. I was obliged to send Yseult to that, that thing in order to keep the peace. I didn't...I did not wish to.'

'Of course you didn't' Drago said softly 'and we're going to talk about that, Minister. Have some tea to calm you down.'

An elf brought a strong infusion of something and Morreau drank it, darting anxious little looks at Drago, knowing that he would make trouble if Morreau didn't behave himself.

It was a very long night. Anu was very tired; they were all very tired. He had to be up at six for another full day of drills, and Monday started live-fire training for the troops, albeit with non-fatal spells. He was generally confident in their ability to disembark under fire but getting them back on...

He found himself nodding a little sometimes, and every so often Drago would gently clamp his knee to wake him. Anu wanted to be awake. It was hard, was all, because there was so much to do and so little time.

Anu had inherited his mother's tendency for occasional flashes of insight. Not premonitions, certainly, and not so sharp as Sose's was, but he had, and just after midnight he had one. Something muttered low in his spine, and he sat up, eye wide, from where he had been dozing.

'Anu?' Drago whispered.

'It's coming.'

Drago looked quizzical but just then Vidanov got the floor. He was a huge man, even taller than Uncle Lucius, and his beard added to the impression. He looked like a Patriarch or something. Anu's spine was tingling again.

'May I speak?'

Uncle Penko smiled a bit. 'If I say no, would it matter to you?'

'No, lad. My lord.'

'I thought not. Kliment, lord Vidanov has the floor.'

'My lord and lady, brothers, ministers, the real problem isn't what to do about this so-called Dark Lord. We all know how that's going to go, don't we? Is there any here who doubts our victory when the time comes?'

No one moved. No one disagreed. Anu's arms were prickling with goose pimples, the nape of his neck aching a little. He could sense that something was barreling toward them like a train. He touched the evil-eye bead round his neck and breathed a silent prayer for protection.

'What we need to deal with is what's to happen after.'

'My lord' said Viktor, a flash of unease darting across his face 'we will get to that. The tribunals-'

'No, lad. Not the tribunals. What'll happen in twenty years, and eighty, and a hundred.'

'You would do better to ask an arithmancer than a war-leader about that, my lord.'

Vidanov shook his head, ignoring the joke. .'Am I the only one worried about this? Ministers and lords and all?'

Osma Pasha spoke up. 'Not the only one, my lord, no. It would not be amiss for us to discuss it, I suppose.'

The others gave assent, and so the floor was opened to that as well. To Anu's left, his parents-parents!-were watching intently. He found himself hoping that something stopped this, something made them end it, for no reason he could name.

'These tribunals' said one of the lords 'who will oversee them?'

Uncle Rumen spoke up. 'The heads of the tribunals will report to the provisional heads of the conquered territory.'

'Who will those be?'

'A mixed force of various ministers and officials, who will in turn report to us, and then directly to the Lord Protector and Vicereine.'

'Might that not cause problems?'

'Problems?'

The Minister from Croatia stood to take the floor. 'My lords and fellow ministers, I agree with lord Kounev. There are any number of tensions amongst us which must be taken into account.'

'Quite so' said the Estonian Minister, startling them all. 'What? The honourable Minister might be a filthy Croat, but he does raise a valid point. Once in a great while.'

'Thank you, you Estonian son of a donkey.'

Uncle Penko raised a hand. 'That will be sufficient agreement, gentlemen.'

Everyone laughed a bit and then turned back to the point at hand. 'All joking aside, that is something we need to discuss.'

Hermione cleared her throat. 'My lord and I have every faith in those amongst you who will be elected to serve to make just choices. Surely none of you would chase your own interests in matters as serious as these?' She was clearly trying to shame them, and they did subside a moment.

Lord Vidanov's voice was very gentle. 'That's what's bound to happen, lass-I mean, my lady. Not because we'd mean it to, but because we're human. Humans are self-seeking. Humans lie.'

'My lord, that is true, but...' She gnawed her lip, clearly trying to find an answer. She never got the chance. Another minister stood.

'Lord Vidanov is right. All of us have known for some time how this must needs go. A new Europe needs a new system, one that will enable us to leave the squabbling of the past behind us.'

'Minister Lompar, that certainly deserves consideration, but how would-'

'Alexander united his world. Your lord and ladyship have united ours. Caesar, too, created an empire from chaos.'

The colour was draining from Viktor's face. Hermione, uncharacteristically, was speechless, mouth open. Her scarf was askew and she did not fix it. When she did speak, her voice actually shook a little.

'Things were different then, Minister. It is not-'

Vidanov's rough, loud voice rang out. 'VIKTOR TSAR!'

Others took up the cry. 'VIKTOR TSAR!'

The other vassals had risen, cheering. Anu reached down and gripped Drago's arm. 'Drago?'

'Oh, no. No, no, no.'

Baba Sirius was standing up as well. 'Shite! Shite!'

'Baba?'

Anu shivered, overcome with the sense of dread. He touched his charm again, hoping against hope that...something. Nene was doing the same, lips moving as she held Baba Sirius's arm.  
The other countries were silent for a few endless moments. Finally the shouting died enough that Minister Tadic of Bosnia could speak.

'This would, obviously, be a large step, the creation of a sort...a sort of empire, for lack of a better word. There would be any number of problems, ethnic and otherwise, with such a system. Would your lord and ladyship be prepared to deal with those problems?'

Viktor wobbled where he stood. 'My lords, we cannot-I cannot-deal with this right now. Surely we should wait until the morning? Ministers, musn't you consult your people about their desires?'

'What of those who would enter into this new empire, my lord? Might we not vote? All those who would do it now, tonight?'

'AYE!'

'All those opposed?'

A few voices rang out, but not enough, not nearly enough. Viktor wobbled harder, and Hermione startled, like a frightened doe, head down. Her scarf fell completely off and she made no move to retrieve it.

'LONG LIVE THE TSAR!'

Vassals were pushing forward now, kneeling, cheering, and the ministers as well, some more reluctantly than others. Nene and Baba Sirius were whispering frantically, and Drago, Vaike beside him, was watching it all play out.

'We can't-what do we do, Drago?'

Drago inhaled. 'I wish I knew.'

'LONG LIVE THE TSAR!'  
Outside, other voices were taking up the cry, and somewhere, somehow, bells were pealing. People were pushing their way in, wolves and elves and others, all sorts of people, cheering, some of them embracing.

Viktor and Hermione still had not moved. He finally reached up, very slowly, and touched her cheek. She smiled a little, eyes full, and then seized his hand swiftly. She kissed his ring.

'Long live the tsar.'


	72. Chapter 72

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Thank you for all the reviews, guys. It cheers me up tremendously.  
**

Draco Malfoy, fifteen and newly married, stood beside his wife and felt the last few strings binding him to his old life, frayed for some time, break entirely, and drift away completely like the broken filaments of a spider's web, floating sadly in the currents of the air.

Beside him Vaike was staring in total shock, and Anu, on the other side, was frozen. 'Drago, what do we do?'

'I don't know.'

Vaike leant closer. 'We can't just stand here. We have to move.'

'Move where?'

'They're your cousins!' That wasn't precisely an answer, but it was close enough, supposed Draco, and moved ahead, Vaike's hand on his arm, Anu at his heels and the people ahead of them parting like a sea of reeds in a wind.

Both cousins were blinking, clearly not sure what to do. Hermione finally decided them, as was her wont, because someone had to; she kissed Viktor's ring and whispered the words that made him her king as well as her husband. It was done.

Vaike had been right. They all turned to look at him, eyes crawling on his skin. He could feel the chasm opening at his feet, their feet, and knew what he needed to do, what he had always known would happen, had known since he and Viktor had planned to kill their women to spare them in the courtyard of Castle Krum so very long ago.

Draco knelt, drawing his wand, laying it across his palms and offering it up. He was staring at the same internal Rubicon as Sirius had, and did what the older man had done, with the same sense of damned resignation. Their path, he thought, had led him here, inextricably, his fate bound to theirs. Make it official, then. Make it real.

'I hereby of my own free will deliver myself fully into the care and rule of Viktor, Lo-tsar of Bulgaria and of the tsarina Hermione, his wife, to serve you, obey you, die for you if need be. My worldly goods, my wand and my life all are yours, from this day to the end of days, in victory and defeat. Long live the tsar and tsarina.'

Viktor seemed very calm, very sallow, gripping Hermione with convulsive tightness. Draco leant up and kissed his ring, shaking, hands wet.

'My friend, my brother, my king.' It wasn't part of the ritual but it seemed right to affirm it, affirm that his lot was with theirs no matter what.

'Rise, Drago, Seneschal of Bulgaria.'

Viktor bent his head and kissed his cheeks in the old way, and then Hermione did the same.

'My cousin, my sister, my queen.'

'Oh, Draco.' Her eyes were glittering but she smiled, touching his cheek.

Draco rose as Vaike took his place, and then Anu, and Aunt Sose and Sirius and the other uncles, and then all the rest, for hours, until it seemed that every person in all the countries they represented had come and personally sworn fealty, until Draco was wavering where he stood and he was struggling not to cry for no clear reason.

Finally it was done and the crowd parted for them again. The people outside were still cheering, would be cheering, and more bells were being rung. Anu went before as usual, but then stopped. He seemed as unsure as the rest of them.

'How do I—what do I say?'

Hermione touched his shoulder. 'Don't worry about it, Anu. Just have Arco clear the way.'

The wolves moved in a smooth wedge to break up the dancing, shouting press of bodies. Draco put down his head and held Vaike's arm, focusing on her as they tried to make for family quarters, and then their own rooms in Castle Borev, a big safe bed where things could be quiet.

Arco barred the door and the group collapsed together on every flat surface. Aunt Lyudmilla was there, and the children, and Barty. Yana and Ivan looked nervous, almost afraid. Finally Yana broke the quiet. She curtsied, head down.

'Long live the tsar and tsarina' she said simply, and then Ivan bowed and followed suit. Then she grinned and ran to them for kisses. 'So are you really tsar now?'

'Yes, Yana.'

She nodded as though this was expected. 'So we can wear dress-up clothes all the time?'

That helped. The adults laughed, and Draco went to the little ones and scooped Edric up, holding him close. The baby cooed sleepily. 'Lo, Drago.'

'Hello, Edric.'

Aunt Lyudmilla knelt and kissed the rings as the rest of them had done. She stood briskly as soon as she was bidden. 'Hermione, we must get in touch with your parents at once, and Professor Snape.'

Viktor sat down hard. 'Perhaps we could ask you to do that, Aunt?'

'Yes, of course.'

Everyone got the hint. People started to drift out until Hermione said 'Draco, stay, please.'

Finally the three of them were alone, aside from the animals. Draco waited an awkward moment and decided that something had not changed, after all; he was still not scared of them. So Draco Malfoy, newly minted Bulgarian and Seneschal of Castle Krum, put his arms out and the three embraced.

He felt warm wetness on his shoulders, both of them, and realized they were crying. That was all right; so was he. Everything, he thought, changes, and then sobs came. He was not afraid of them, but he was afraid for them, for all of them, and this new thing was a shining trap, another razor-lined pit to dance on the edge of.

Hermione finally put her head up. 'Well, boys, we've work to do.'

It was so familiar, so Hermione, that Draco and Viktor both laughed a little and then sat down. She dried her eyes and called for Kreacher to bring yoghurt, cool clothes and pen and parchment.

'What do we need to do?'

'You're the idea person, Hermione.'

'Draco, don't be unhelpful.'

'It's true.'

'Viktor?'

'Drago has a point.'

She sighed long-sufferingly and frowned at the parchment. 'Aunt is writing those letters for us. Uncle Rumen needs to look up what has to happen, is the next thing. We'll have to work out a system for incorporating all those countries into the…the group…'

'Uncle Penko can do that.'

'Then we'll have to see what Snape says. He'll have some ideas about what we should do.'

Draco dreaded this next part. 'We'll still need to work out Britain.'

Viktor touched his sleeve. 'We'll work out a way for you to have dual citizenship, Drago.'

'Might be better if I didn't, at least not openly. My children, maybe, but everyone needs to know where the family stands. To calm the exiles, if nothing else.'

'We should meet with them as soon as possible. We should have thought of it earlier but things happened so fast.'

'It was bound to eventually, mate.'

'I know.'

Hermione looked brisk, as Mother did when she was trying to make Draco take some especially vile potion. 'Well, it's done now.'

Her fat orange tom leapt up and kneaded her leg, and Bess, chuffing worriedly, came to nose Viktor, making one of her little bows. It was disconcerting, too apropos. Viktor Accio'd her rag ball and rolled it for her as they talked.

'So what do we do?'

Hermione gnawed her lip gently. 'This could be what we need to set things in motion.'

'How so?'

'The Dark Lord will find out about things. He won't like this. I think this could be the catalyst that pushes him to make a movement one way or another.'

'Like Sirius said, managing the break in his sanity?'

'Yes, precisely.'

Viktor squeezed Hermione's hand. 'See? Drago was right.'

'Hush.'

'I'm the tsar. You can't tell the tsar to hush.'

'If you're tsarina you can.'

'Touché. We should send for those crowns the goblins made for us.'

Hermione made a face. 'I wish this hadn't happened.'

'So do I.'

'It did.'

'It did.'

Draco wished he could help them with this. 'We'll figure it out.'

'Of course we will. I wish the parents were here already, though.'

'I do too.'

Draco did too. He sighed quietly and then stayed the rest of the night with them, figuring out how to make this work.

No one slept very much that night. Ivan had been roused from sleep by Niska, helped into a clean tunic and trousers, and then, with Mama and Yana, brought to Sofia. His stomach hurt whenever this happened. Nothing good ever happened when they had to wake up like this and go to Sofia.

Mama looked funny too. She kept fiddling with his scarf, and then, once they were in the reception room, she sat down and called them to her. Ivan went gladly, filled with love for her, simple child-love that wouldn't be simple much longer.

'When Viktor and Hermione come in, stand up. Then say 'Long live the tsar' and go to them and kiss their rings. All right?'

'Why, Mama?'

Ivan could hear noise from outside, cheering and bells. That meant good things, usually. They might get to go on the balcony and wave at the people, or take part in a procession, or meet some unfortunates to give food to. Ivan liked to do those things, so he hoped that was what it was.

'Your cousins are tsar and tsarina now.'

'Really?'

'Yes.'

'Are we princesses, Mama?'

'Something like that, love.'

Yana beamed and then looked worried. 'What about Anu? Can we still be married?'

'Anu is a high lord, darling. Of course you can.'

'And I can still have my goat?'

Mama kissed her forehead. 'Yes sweetheart, you may still have your goat.'

They heard them coming. Mama leapt up and waited, looking nervous. Ivan held her hand. Why should she be nervous? It was just Viktor and Hermione. Unlike Yana, Ivan was exactly old enough to remember a time before all this. He wished Aunt Zhivka was here. She would know just what to do.

Sandru opened the door, bowing, and a whole group of people came in. Ivan found he couldn't move to wave, even to his brother-in-law. He stood still. Tsar, he thought. That was important. That was special.

But it was only Viktor, still, and Hermione. Viktor used to swim with him, and dry his hair after baths, and sometimes before he was married he had let Ivan sleep between him and Drago.

Yana poked him in the side. 'Long live the tsar.'

'Long live the tsar.'

Then Viktor and Hermione came closer and they kissed the rings like Mama had said. They were cold and metallic. Hermione gave him a big hug and Ivan hugged back. 'It's all right, Hermione.'

'I know. We have to be very brave right now.'

Ivan wasn't sure what there was to be brave about, but she was good at being brave, and he trusted her judgement, so he nodded and stepped back. She didn't look very happy, or any of the others. He'd thought about that quite a lot as he'd tried to fall asleep. She didn't look very happy at all.

Now, twelve hours later, Ivan was bidding a tearful goodbye, and he was not the only one. He hugged Sandru's neck hard, sniffling. 'Promise you'll come back?'

'I promise I will try.'

Ivan reached into his pocket and handed over the religious medal he'd got from the priest. 'Take this?'

'Thank you, my lord. My prince.'

Ivan had another gift too. He handed it over in a small wrapper. 'It's a rose from Aunt Zhivka's tomb. Yana says she hears prayers. If you ask her to ask for you, she will. She's nice that way.'

Sandru touched the top of his head gently. 'When I come back, I will teach you more math problems.'

'I would like that.'

Sandru tucked the flower and the medal into the pouch at his neck. Ivan knew he kept a picture of Doru there. Ivan was the same age as Sandru's son, but Sandru hadn't seen Doru since Doru was five.

Sandru went to the middle of the courtyard, where the Portkey was waiting. It would take him to Skopje, where the other wolves were waiting. A few were staying behind, mostly the ones that guarded the Ministry. The others had to go, and Sandru, because he was Mr. Pavel's assistant, had to go with them, and might not come back, as Borislav Kounev had not.

Sandru bowed to the dais and touched the post which was the Portkey. He vanished at once. Ivan went to stand beside Viktor and slipped a hand into his. His cousin smiled down. There were shadows under his eyes, and he was rubbing his temple with his free hand. Ivan considered gravely; it would be very bad, he knew, if the tsar was sick.

'Viktor? Are you all right?'

'Fine, Ivan. Just a headache.'

Ivan had an answer. 'We should take a rest, then.'

'A rest?'

'You can't be sick now, remember?'

Viktor swung him up, carefully balancing him on his hip. Ivan was a bit too old to be carried these days, but he didn't protest. It felt good for his cousin, who was the biggest and strongest and smartest and best at Quidditch in the world, to hold him. Ivan snuggled close, hoping it would make Viktor sleepy so he'd take something and lie down.

'For a little while.'

Viktor carried him back into the Ministry and to the family quarters. Ivan closed his eyes and tried to seem more tired than he was. Viktor set him down on his own bed and slipped off his boots and then his own.

'Is everything all right, Ivan?'

Ivan rolled onto his side. 'You look like you don't feel good.'

'I don't feel good.'

'Why not? Mama can give you something if you're sick.'

Viktor laid on his back and stared at the canopy of the bed. 'It's a lot of responsibility, is all.'

'I know. Are you scared?'

'Yes.'

'Barty says it's all right to be scared sometimes.'

'He's right.'

Ivan snuggled into his cousin, savouring the simple feeling of being close to someone he loved dearly. 'Do you remember when Yana got dragon pox and your mother let me nap in the big bed?'

Viktor turned his head a bit. 'I'm surprised you remember it, Ivan.'

'I do. She hummed and mended clothes.'

Viktor stroked his hair gently. 'I remember that, yes. Do you remember anything else about her?'

'She had long dark hair and liked to dance. She smelt like roses. She was good to hug.'

Viktor blinked suddenly. 'All that is true.' Ivan thought he wanted to cry, a little, because Viktor looked like he wanted to as well.

'Are you sad now?'

'It's all right to be sad.'

'Are you, though?'

'A bit. I miss her very much, every day.'

'I miss her too, but Yana says she listens if we ask her to.'

'Do you think so?'

Ivan considered. 'Aunt Zhivka was good at fixing things. If she can help us I think she will.'

'I think so too. What did you give Sandru? Is it private?'

'No. A medal the priest gave me. St. Francis. He helped a werewolf once, you know.'

'That's right, he did.'

'And some of Aunt Zhivka's flowers, just in case. She'll help him come home. Sandru has a son. His name is Doru. He hasn't seen him in four years.'

'Hasn't seen him?'

Ivan felt terribly heavy, like his heart was too big. 'Some people don't like werewolves. I think maybe Sandru's wife doesn't like werewolves.'

'Did he say so?'

'No. I asked Arco.'

'What did Arco tell you?'

'To pray for them.'

'Good advice. Have you?'

'Yes. Viktor, since you're tsar now...I've been saving my pocket money for a long time. I have twenty two perpera and fifteen asens.'

'That's good, but what's one to do with the other?'

'Could you ask Minister Vulpes to let Doru visit? I can pay for the carriage to bring him back and forth to the border, and he can stay in my castle with Sandru and me.'

Viktor's eyes were very bright. 'Ivan, that is so generous and kind of you. I'll have a talk with Minister Vulpes about it, yes, but keep your money. I'm so proud of you right now.'

Ivan beamed, warm with praise, and closed his eyes. 'Would you tell the brave little cat?'

As he drifted off, he smelt roses and knew Aunt Zhivka was there. She would help Doru come visit, and bring the wolves home safe. She was good at things like that. Just the same, he touched his medal, wanting everything to be good on his cousin's first day as their tsar.

He wasn't the only one. Hermione let the two sleep for almost three hours before she had Niska gently move Ivan to the divan and woke Viktor up. He sat, blinking, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

'Love?'

'It's almost noon.'

'It is?' He suddenly stopped and squinted suspiciously at her. 'When did you last sleep?'

'I'm fine.'

'Get in bed, we're trading.'

'I can't, I have to-'

He reached over and hoisted her under the arms as he would Yana. She squeaked with mock-outrage but permitted it, and then laid down, feeling her aching back ease a bit. She was a day or so from getting her cycle, and rubbed her belly lightly, grimacing.

Viktor stretched out beside her. 'Let's spend some time together tonight. Before things fall apart.'

'I would like that.'

They kissed quickly, conscious that Ivan could wake up at any time. Hermione touched her husband's face, ran her finger over the bump where his nose had been broken and reset so many times.

'I love you.'

'I love you too. It will be all right, Viktor. It will be fine.'

'With you running things, I have no doubt.'

'We. We will run things.'

Viktor leant over. 'You're the idea person, remember? I wear my formal tunics and scowl menacingly. If it weren't for you I'd still be a Quidditch player.'

'You're still a Quidditch player.'

'You're still the best thing in my life.'

She kissed him again. 'Niska, take Ivan to his bedroom, please.' The children had bedrooms at the Ministry for when they stayed over. Barty, she knew, would be glad to stay with him. He never seemed to sleep himself, but Barty had infinite patience for helping others do it. He'd curl up with Ivan for however long he slept, and probably tell him stories or something after.

She reached up and loosened her scarf and then her bodice as Viktor undid his tunic and slipped it over his head. He was scarred and warm and familiar as her own skin. She ran her fingers across the dimples that marked old breaks in the bones, brushed a thumb across a depression where a bludger had almost ruined his shoulder. Home. With Viktor she was home.

Compared with the days after they'd taken Sofia, things now were almost calm. Hermione shut her eyes and laid skin to skin with her husband. Neither of them felt the need to take it further than this. They were together, and nothing could hurt them so long as it was them against the world.

Crookshanks jumped from his place on the divan and padded toward them, purring softly. He settled above them so he was touching both and then set to work grooming, rasping them with his rough tongue and nuzzling them so his scent glands spread his musk on them.

'Hermione?'

'Viktor?'

'I would like to go and swim tonight.'

Hermione thought about the sea. It seemed oddly appropriate to go there and sink beneath the waves, to come up new, washed in water as salty as their blood. She nodded English-style, and so that night, as the moon as was rising, they went, just the two of them and a few of their body guard, a mixed force of wolves handpicked by Scabior and Pavel to stay behind.

Hermione let the water wash over her skin, opened her eyes to the sting of the salt, let it clean her mouth. She swam out, arms cutting the water lithely, and then back, like an otter. Under her feet the famous white sands of Varna were cool, soothing.

She loved to watch Viktor swim. He cut through the water, as graceful as the motion of the waves, and as silent. She stopped to watch, and when he came to her and put his arms about her she said nothing, but ducked below the water with him as they tried to kiss in the waves, sputtering and laughing.

He lifted her up in his arms. Hermione felt as though they stood in the centre of things, as though, in the womb of the world, they were being brought forth as new creatures entirely. She wrapped her arms about his neck. 'Let's send the guards away.'

Viktor nodded slowly. He seemed to feel it too, feel the new life which was theirs and which they must now take it, would or no.

He sent an elf to tell the wolves to go further out, and then it was only the two of them, standing in the surf. Hermione felt a thousand galvanising currents eddying about them, a sea-change in every sense. She led him from the sea by the hand and onto the blanket the elves had spread down for them. Viktor laid on his back and looked at the diamond-sprinkled dome above them, as though Creation had bedecked itself as a bride.

'The ancient Thracians said that everything of importance in a man's life should happen under the open sky.'

Hermione came to him, the stars as witness. It was sweet, and when it was done she went back into the sea, from whence all life began. The water was precisely as salty as blood, salty as tears, as salty as his seed as it ran down her thighs. The water washed away what had come before. She came up and saw the figure running toward them, dove for her wand.

It was Scabior, now Lord Commander of the Watch. 'Come quick!'

'Scabior? What's wrong?'

He splashed into the water, not noticing their dishevelment. 'It's Tamm!'

'What about Anu? Is he all right?'

'Slug'orn's-Slug'orn's-come quick!' His hands were red to the wrist.

They took his arms and let him Apparate them directly to Sofia.


	73. Chapter 73

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Laptop is still acting up, so it's catch as catch can, gang.**

Hermione would say, after it had time to sink in, that she'd never seen a man so badly beaten who still lived. Viktor thought this was probably hyperbole of an unintentional sort, but at the time he would have agreed with her, if only because the sight that met them had robbed him, for a little while, of memories that might have argued it.

That was later. Now, he was staring at Slughorn, who was reeling in the midst of a ring of angry faces. As Viktor watched, Paavo directed an uppercut at the man which knocked his head back, groaning, blood bubbling from his mouth.

Hermione touched his arm. 'We need to stop this.' She raised her voice. 'Enough! Get him in the chair, please. Professor?'

Snape, there not more than twenty minutes, pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed. 'Mr. Kask, Mr. Vata, Mr. Galca, back up five paces. Elves, bring chairs for the gentlemen. Scabior, secure the prisoner. Malfoy, Madam Malfoy, sit him down and clean the blood off. Mr. Tamm, stay next to the dog and observe.'

Everyone did it, and Slughorn was fixed into a chair with spells. Outside, Viktor could hear wolves shuffling and aurors speaking amongst themselves. He was torn between wanting to send them away and wondering if it mightn't be better to let them spread the story about to explain what would surely happen next.

'Enver, the show is over. Send the wolves to get the ministers and assemble them upstairs in an hour. The aurors need to patrol upstairs and make sure the crowd outside the gates is calm, please.'

Vata stood up and went to shoo the crowd—the mob—growing outside the door. If Slughorn hadn't cracked in an hour then Scabior could take over, and a few wolves. Viktor marked that in his mind and then shuddered, realizing what he'd just been thinking, and how callous it was.

Hermione had gathered them all into a tight circle and then made a Silence bubble. 'Does everyone know what happened?'

Drago and both Kasks (well, Kask and former Kask) shook their heads. Snape was still pinching his nose as though to stave off a headache. 'The dog indicated there was some sort of serious incidence.'

'Anu?'

Anu, head on knees, spoke steadily, unafraid. 'Yes, Viktor. We had lessons tonight. English lessons. I went to his house.'

'Alone?' Snape glowered sharply and Anu shook his head at once.

'No, sir. Norry was with me.'

'Norry is a moron.'

'Yes, sir, but the other elves need to tend the ministers, and I didn't think…it felt safe here.'

Sirius touched Anu's neck and Anu pressed on. 'We went over the lesson and he gave me some juice from a bottle. Pumpkin juice like we have in England. It tasted the same.'

'How much?'

'A goblet.'

'What happened then?'

'It made me feel sort of dizzy and lightheaded. I told Norry and he brought me here. I started vomiting. Baba Sirius found me and we went to Healer Yokov. He said it was something in the juice so they went for Slughorn and Baba Sirius called Viktor and Hermione back.'

'I see. Who went for Slughorn?'

'I did, sir.'

Scabior cracked his neck and looked Snape right in the eye. Viktor was frankly amazed that they had got Slughorn alive at all. If the wolves had been there, Viktor suspected they wouldn't have. The drive to protect the Pack was simply too strong. As it was, it had been a near-riot when Hermione and he had returned, as the wolves left tried to get to Slughorn.

'The juice has been recovered?'

'E tried to dump in in the fireplace but I gots it. Lady from the Potions guild tested it. Sed it were Dreamless Sleep an a lil brandy with the juice.'

Snape went still. 'He mixed alchohol and Dreamless Sleep? Has Tamm been checked over?'

'Healer Yokov gave me something, sir.' He meant an emetic—they'd needed to test his stomach contents, and Yokov had wanted as much of the drug out of him as possible before the bulk hit his bloodstream.

'Good. I want him under observation for a least a day and a night. The hospital would really be the most appropriate place for him right now.'

Anu shook his head. 'It was just a bit, sir!'

'You weigh nothing and mixing any sort of sedative potion with alcohol is an awful idea. A bit more might have killed you. As Yokov feels you well enough to be about I shan't send you to hospital right now. If you should feel dizzy again, or suddenly sleepy, or nauseous…'

'I'm to tell an adult at once.'

'Quite so.' Snape glared extra-hard for a moment, and, point made, resumed the rest of the night's tasks.

Hermione frowned, holding up a finger. 'Professor? Doesn't it seem odd to you that Slughorn would make such an obvious mistake?'

Snape sat back down. 'My l—Madam Krum, in small doses, that mixture is famous for…lowering the resistance of the drinker. I'm sure Slughorn believed that he could calculate precisely the right dosage to allow for the…desired effects without the damaging ones.'

'Did he just give Anu too much?'

'Probably.' Snape abruptly shot his hand out to catch Anu's wrist, feeling for a pulse. He grimaced. 'Black, time a minute on your watch.'

Anu's pulse was normal, thankfully. He settled back in his place by Sirius, watching and listening. Snape gave the bound, shivering old man a hard look and then pressed forward.

'So what shall we do?'

Paavo was staring at Slughorn as well. 'Give any one of us the word, either of you. They'll never find the body.'

'No.'

'Your word is law. If you judge he ought to die, then no one will ever question you.'

'We can't kill a foreign national out of hand. And he might still have knowledge we need.'

'I might be declared King of the Moon tomorrow morning, but don't purchase tickets to the ceremony quite yet.'

Hermione was gnawing her lip thoughtfully. 'We can use this. Professor, could you get into his mind again if you needed?'

'I could, yes.'

'I think this might be the key to finding out what Slughorn knows. He needs our goodwill now.'

'We could question him.'

'Scabior and Snape and Galca, perhaps.'

'Oh no' said Paavo immediately. 'I want a piece of this bastard. Sorry, ladies.'

'Not at all. I'd like to sit in as well, if no one minded.' Drago leant back in his chair and just watched the moaning Slughorn, who cringed from the scruntiny. Drago's gaze never wavered, not a bit.

'Me, too.' Vaike looked very like Paavo when she smiled that way. Drago nodded approving, their eyes meeting. She leant a little toward him and brushed his hand with her own.

'That's fine with me. Hermione?'

'All right. If he won't divulge anything, or can't, then perhaps the Professor could try legilimising him. If he didn't mind.'

'Not at all, madam.'

'Are we decided on a course of action, then?'

'I am convinced if you are, Hermione.'

'Let's start the questioning with everyone here. He'll have heard the stories. If he doesn't crack quickly, we'll leave it to the smaller group.'

'We need to tell the ministers something in an hour. Why don't we let Professor Snape's group take over when they arrive?'

'All right.'

Slughorn got very still when he saw them coming. Snape, seething and funereal, Sirius visibly livid, Drago looking politely bored, the twins smiling gently, Vata's misaligned face blankly hostile. Hermione leant over him, damp hair—she and Viktor were in their bathing costumes, absurdly, still—and studied him.

'We know everything. You have an hour to tell us before Scabior and Galca get to ask.'

Scabior cracked his knuckles. 'Always ave ated blokes oo likes t innerfear with lil children.'

Slughorn opened his mouth and a dusty squeak emerged. 'Eeeh…'

'Do better than that. You did it to the Dark Lord as well, didn't you, what you did tonight?'

'N-no! I didn't-'

'Scabior?'

Scabior's fist lashed out and struck Slughorn in the stomach. 'Rong ans'er, mate.'

'You did it to the Dark Lord, didn't you?'

'Y-yes! In the thirties, he was young, he wanted—he wanted-'

'Horcruxes. He wanted to make Horcruxes.'

'Yes! Don't hit me, yes, he did!'

Sirius gently moved Hermione aside. 'And my brother?'

'Brother? Who are you?'

'Sirius Black. His name was Regulus, Regulus Black.'

'Regulus, yes, I did, I did!'

Sirius's fist caught Slughorn in the belly. The man screamed, and Sirius stepped back. 'You son of a bitch!'

'We know it all, Slughorn. Perhaps you'd like to tell us? We'll put you in a cell if you do.' She smiled gently at him, and sent for an elf to take his statement. Slughorn wept and told them everything. True to her word, Hermione gave orders for Slughorn to be sent to a cell when he was done.

It took five hours for the whole story to come out. Viktor and Hermione were not there for that, but when it was over, Scabior brought them the parchments, and they gave them to Snape and Sirius.

Viktor went to Anu the next evening when the training was done. Anu hopped off his ship, grinning, spattered green. He started to wave and stopped himself, bowing as the others bowed behind him. 'Your majesty.'

'My lord admiral.'

Then it was just Viktor and Anu again. Viktor hugged him when they were alone and then bopped the back of his head. 'Taking Norry with you.'

'The other elves were busy.'

'You knew he would try something.'

Anu tilted his head back so he could look Viktor in the eye with his good one. 'Not for sure. But Viktor, if we're invading soon, we have to know how to kill…you know.'

'Anu, you might have died!'

'So will a lot of other people if we can't really kill him!'

'I should strap you.' Viktor scowled darkly at him, wondering if he'd really do it if it came to that. Anu squirmed head down, and mumbled something.

'Sorry?'

'Said it was worth it. So we'd know.'

Viktor found a place to sit down on a bench and tugged Anu down with him. 'You did a noble thing. But Anu, what if he hadn't let you leave?'

'He almost didn't. Norry had to step in.'

'Norry stepped in?'

'He did. He shouted at Slughorn and then Apparated me.'

Viktor was tempted to shake him. 'That was quite brave of Norry.'

'Very brave. Are you going to tell Nene?'

'No, because…damn it, Anu.'

Anu squirmed harder. Tears pooled in his eye. He sniffled, swiping at his face with his sleeve. 'Didn't mean to scare everyone.'

Viktor sighed and remembered the time right after Anu had lost his eye, that scrawny, too-warm little body between Drago and himself, asking for Snetzka for a story to pass the time and blushing when Hermione talked to him.

'I know that.'

'Is he going to die now?'

'Do you think he ought to?'

Anu considered. 'He's a very bad man, Slughorn.'

'He is.'

'He hurt Uncle Regulus Black.'

'He did.'

'And the Dark Lord.'

'Yes.'

' But I don't know if he should die. I don't feel like…he's sick, isn't he, in his brain?'

Viktor put an arm about his shoulders. 'Yes. But he could control his urges and chooses not to.'

'Do you think he should die, Viktor?'

'I don't know, Anu.'

Anu accepted that. Viktor hugged him again and said nothing as twilight fell and they moved closer and closer to the invasion that would start their war.

In Azkaban, Lucius Malfoy was trying to sleep. He slept when he could, in snatches, heedless of the time. He had been there, he thought, a week. Or two? He wasn't sure. Time had become an amorpheus mass of screams and visions. Shivering, he closed his eyes and curled up tighter, feeling the slimy, urine-smelling stones pressing his flesh.

A scraping noise. He opened his eyes, scrubbing at them with filthy hands, nails too long and broken from scratching the body-lice he had picked up here. Another scraping noise, and a fat grey rat was waddling toward him. It stood up, grooming itself, on its hind legs.

Lucius lashed his foot out at it. 'Filthy thing!'

It danced back, squeaking urgently at him, and he saw that it had a sort of collar on, complete with a small pouch that hung between it's front legs. Could it be from Snape? Was Snape trying to get him out? Lucius reached out and seized the rat, shielding it from view with his body.

The pouch had a small note and something hard wrapped in a piece of paper. The note said 'Read me first' so he opened it, hands shaking. It wasn't Snape's handwriting; it was small, irregular, badly-spelt, not like Severus's usual elegant, assertive copperplate. An elf?

_'Deere Sere,_

_Pleese fynde inclozed this note and a Port-kee. The Port-kee is a coin. There shod also bee a wand, not yors. Stun the ratt, who is an anymagis, and then Port-kee. Every odder thyng is taken kaar of._

_Yors fatefilly'_

How could he know it was from Severus? Suppose it was a trap. This could be some sort of test, could it not? The apathy of Azkaban seized him, and for a moment he wanted to ignore it, curl up in a ball and let the grey hopelessly have him, let it wash over him like the rain which often leaked in.

Then a strange thing happened. In his mind's eye, he saw his son's face, and knew that he must do this, or die trying. Draco needed him. Narcissa needed him, and Hermione, and Viktor, and the rest of the family. He would take the risk, and he would find a way, because a Malfoy always found a way to better their position, and in spite of everything he was still a Malfoy.

Lucius found the wand, shrunk small, and which expanded as he touched it, and did as the note asked. The animagus fell sideways, beginning to change. Lucius felt hope blooming in his heart and then, as quickly as that, the Dementors were stirring. He had only a moment, had to hurry, had to-there!

He ripped the covering off and touched the coin with his bare skin, wand clutched in his hand. He vanished, whisked away, leaving the rat, to freedom, to exile. Lucius's feet hit ground, and he stepped up, into Darkness or into light he did not know.

'Sirius?'

'Lucius!' Sirius hugged him ebulliently, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet. 'It worked!'

'It did. Severus?'

'Here I am, Malfoy.' Dour as ever, he stepped from the shadows and allowed himself a small, stiff smile. 'Good to see you survived the experience intact mentally. Have you?'

'I-I think so.'

'Good. I must prepare you for some things before you go.'

'Go?'

'To Bulgaria. Why don't you eat first, and shower?'

'No, tell me. Is it Draco?'

'He has married Vaike Kask.'

Lucius nodded, not surprised. 'We knew he would. She's not...?'

'No. They went too far and he wanted to marry her immediately to cover their shame.'

'Ah.' Hardly the end of the world. Lucius liked Vaike, and so did Draco. 'Does Narcissa know?'

'She was there.'

'Is she all right?'

'She's very concerned about you, definitely, but otherwise well.'

Lucius sat down, legs shaking with relief. 'What else?'

'Your niece and her husband have been proclaimed autocrats of most of Europe.'

Lucius shook his head, sure he was hallucinating this. 'Sorry?'

'The boy is tsar now, and the girl is his queen.'

'My God, how did this happen?'

Before Snape could answer Sirius stiffened. 'We've got company!'

'Mippy, take Malfoy to Sofia! Dog, transform!'

The elf whisked Lucius away before he could react, or even thank them for saving him. One moment he was in Spinner's End and the next he was in the family quarters in the Ministry.

'Father?'

'Draco?'

Draco half-flung himself, laughing. 'Father! Father, you're free! You're safe!'

Lucius hugged his son as tightly as he could, feeling how solid and warm and real the boy was. Very warm, actually, Lucius noted with a touch of concern, but now his son was hugging him and Lucius was too happy to think of anything else.

'Draco, shh, shhh. And don't you dare touch me, I'm filthy and covered in lice.'

'Don't care' said Draco at once, and kept hugging. Lucius touched his son's cheek with a shaking hand. My boy, he thought, my little boy is married now. But alive. As long as Draco was alive, and safe, and knew how much his father loved him, then all was right in the world.

There was a commotion from behind them. Voices, and doors opening. 'Uncle?'

'Hermione?'

'Let me call Healer. Draco, let him sit down.' She squeezed Draco's shoulder as she said it, and he stepped back, slowly, grinning and crying a little. An elf came with hot tea, and another with a hot towel, and then some bland porridge and toast. Lucius was ravenous but made himself wait until his niece was distracted, at least, before he ate most of the food.

Draco refused to leave his side, even as the Healer came in, until the doughty old man shooed him out with few words and brisk gestures. 'Go on, lad. I shall call you once he's settled. Out with you, your grace, go on.'

'"Your grace"?'

Yokov nodded briskly as he took Lucius's pulse. 'Your son is the tsar's second in command and cousin to her majesty.'

'So the story is true?'

'It is.'

'Were you there?'

'Indeed. It was a sight, I tell you. Always knew that lad had a destiny. I am glad to be here to see it.'

Lucius nodded, unable to talk as the old man was looking in his mouth with a small light. 'Sores on your gums, it looks like.'

'Mmm hmm.'

'Bed rest, I think, for a few days. And we'll need to get some weight back on you, you've lost three stone at least. But as strong a fellow as you are, my lord, you'll be fine quick enough.'

'It is not necessary, Healer, to refer to me that way.'

Yokov shook his head immediately. 'You're her majesty's uncle, and his grace's father.'

'It would seem to me foreign to you, sir.'

'It is, it is, but I must remember myself now. I'm their majesties' private healer, apparently.' He smiled sardonically, but Lucius could sense he was not displeased, precisely.

'Do you like it?'

'I like them. I like helping them. Even fixed that Slughorn fellow up.'

'What happened with Slughorn?'

Yokov prodded his neck. 'Your glands are the size of apricots. He tried to drug my lord Tamm. His grace will tell you, no doubt. And now bed, my lord, for three days at least.'

An hour later, tears in his eyes, clean and warm, Lucius allowed a sniffling elf to tuck him into a big bed in the family quarters. He had had some warm chicken broth and bread, and was wearing one of Rumen's nightshirts.

'Father?'

'Hello, Draco.'

Draco came in and sat down. Had he always looked this old? His eyes were different. Harder, perhaps? And his cheeks were pink, flushed.

'I hear you are owed congratulations, love.'

'Yes, Father.'

'Are you pleased?'

'Very. We love one another more every day.' Draco held up his hand-his right hand, oddly-and showed his ring. Lucius took his hand and bent his over it.

'This was Grandfather's ring, did you know that?'

'I did. You don't mind?'

'Of course not. He'd be very pleased you wear it, though no doubt the turn things have taken would surprise him.'

Draco squirmed a bit. 'We meant to wait until I was seventeen, but we...'

'Jumped the wand a bit?'

'Yes.'

'It happens, love. Your cousin is tsarina now?'

'She is.'

'They call you "your grace"?'

Draco squirmed a bit harder. 'We're members of the Imperial family, Father. They need to call us something, and I am Seneschal of Castle Krum, still.'

'What does that mean now?'

Draco fidgeted with his tunic. 'It means that if there's a problem someplace and they can't deal with it personally for whatever reason, I'm to step in. France is the main point of contention right now.'

'Morreau is not behaving himself?'

'He is at the moment, but the Dark Lord is...well, he isn't getting any saner, to put it mildly.' Draco described what had happened; the theft of the children, the fate of the three towns that had complained, the demands to surrender Yseult Ropion to the British immediately.

'My God. When is the invasion set to begin?'

'We suspect he'll move within the week, Father. The wedding, Snape thinks he'll use it as a cover to purge us and the aunts and uncles.'

'And Mother.'

'And Mother, yes.'

'Any news of Hetty and Ivan?'

'Nagini is with them. They're all right.'

'He's not had poor Ronald beaten again?'

'Not that I know of, Father.' Draco picked pensively at the hem of his tunic a bit more. Lucius could sense that there was more to the story than that but let it go. He was tired and wanted to rest a bit, and Draco just needed some time.

'I will sleep a little, I believe.'

'Should I stay?'

'Would you like to?'

'I, er...all right.'

Lucius closed his eyes. Draco's voice, from the divan across the room, was very soft. 'How much do I love you, Father?'

'More than the sun and the stars.'

'More than the moon and the earth.'

With that happy reminder of the past, Lucius fell asleep.

When he woke, nearly eight hours had passed. To his amusement, he and Draco had aquired several roommates in that time period, which is to say that Draco had climbed into the other side of the bed, and Anu beside him, so Barty could have the divan, snoring softly, the baby sleeping on his chest, and how big Edric was, with a full head of hair now!

Lucius moved the blanket back and started to get up, careful to walk quietly so he didn't wake the sleepers. Anu groaned in his sleep, muttering something about ships, and Lucius smoothed his brow automatically. 'No, shhh, sleep.' Anu felt very warm under his hand, like Draco had.

The boy mumbled again and rolled over, snuggling into Draco, who didn't stir. They both looked exhausted and badly used, and Lucius tugged the covers up, making a note to ask Kreacher whether they were sleeping enough and taking enough nutrient potions.

Lucius donned the borrowed dressing-gown and opened the door, hoping to find somehow whom he could question about events. Let the boys sleep, and he would get his bearings and see what aid he could give.

'Uncle?'

'Darling? How are you?' He smiled at his niece, opening his arms. After a second's pause she came and embraced him, sighing deeply. She looked tired as well, eyes glittering, apple-cheeked. He tested her forehead.

'You're warm, Hermione.'

'I know. We've all got it. Just a cold, I think.'

'What have you taken?' He probed her glands as the healer had done. A bit swollen, he noted, and saw she was swallowing gingerly.

'Potions for the headache and the cough and the sore throat.'

'You need to go to bed, love. Sleep is what will cure this.'

'I know but there's no time. I haven't slept more than four hours since...' she blinked, and sneezed. Lucius gently rested a hand on her back.

'Can't you sleep now?'

'No. There's so much to be done-'

'And making yourself sicker will not help you do it.'

She bowed her head once, acquiescing. 'Do you promise to wake me if something should happen?'

'Not if it's something we can deal with. You are not well, darling.'

Suddenly her eyes narrowed. 'Aren't you supposed to be in bed too?'

'I have slept for eight hours and I was not in Azkaban so very long.'

'The healer said you need rest.'

'We will both rest, but I will see you put to bed first. Where is Viktor?'

Hermione sneezed again. 'He's working with the ministers, drawing up boundaries and things. I, ah-choo!'

Lucius rubbed a circle on her back. 'Bed, Hermione. I insist.'

She didn't protest but led him to her own quarters, close to where he had been sleeping. Her sitting room was pretty and elegantly appointed, but it seemed oddly dishevelled, as though too much was happening for the elves to get in long enough to clean.

'May I ask you something, my dear?'

'Please.'

'I have always felt some distance between us. Is it because of what happened the day Hogwarts fell?'

Hermione closed her eyes. 'Yes.'

He leant over and took her hand, feeling the warmth there. 'Why don't you tell me about it?'

'I, ah...it was a long time ago.'

'It still hurts you.'

'Sometimes. I feel...it was frightening, was all.'

'Hermione.'

She opened her eyes. 'You knew what this was, didn't you? What he meant to do?'

'Yes. He contacted me via owl and I came the same night.'

'Why?'

'Because he was powerful and I was afraid of him. He would be angry enough I had not gone to prison with your parents, and I assumed rightly that coming when called would ameliorate some of his spleen.'

'And if I had been a...if I'd been a Halfblood, it would have been because of something that happened on a raid.'

'Yes.'

'Doesn't it bother you?'

Lucius could feel the terrible weight of the question. It seemed to him that all the culpability of his actions was built into it, all the sins he had committed under the Dark Lord's aegis coming in a single rush to confront him.

'Did it bother me then, you mean, or now?'

'Both.'

'At the time? I knew it was something that happened. It disgusted me, but I had no moral qualms about it. It was hard to see them as people. I thought we...we were saving you. You'd find your father and he'd change your registration so you were the child of himself and some dead Pureblood or Halfblood woman and your life would have improved for it.'

'Now?'

Lucius tried to find a way to put his thoughts in order. 'There are more sorts of people in the world than I had ever imagined. It is well within my purview now that some muggles must be good and decent. And no one deserves to hurt like that. Poor Sose is proof enough.'

'Would you stop it if you saw it again?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'Because evil begets evil. The mass of humanity, I think, just wants to be left alone.'

She nodded slowly. 'Would you have let him hurt one of the other children to punish me, like you'd said?'

'I would like to think the answer is no. You were young, and small. I believed I could control you through intimidation. It would not have got to that stage.'

'But you would have?'

'I would not have stopped him.'

'Why?'

'Fear' said Lucius frankly and immediately. 'It could have been Draco he was hurting.'

'And when Barty scared me. How much of what you said was true?'

Lucius was still holding her hand. 'About your parents?'

'Yes.'

'Most of it. The lie was the slant I gave things.'

'They went there to kill those people.'

'No. They went to find the Dark Lord. They simply went a good deal further questioning them than anyone might have anticipated.'

'Why didn't you go?'

Lucius tried to parse his own motives, nearly twenty years past. 'I was tired of war and fighting, and wanted to see my son grown up. If the Dark Lord were alive and it was a test, my place in the group was elevated enough that I would not be punished. If he were not, then it would be sacrificing myself for a dead man.'

'And after?'

'I was relieved. He was gone and our lives could continue.'

'You and Mother don't like one another.'

'We never have.'

'Is that why?'

'Perhaps that was some of it, for a while, but Bellatrix and I have never got on. We come at things differently.'

Hermione accepted that. 'Are you sorry the aurors didn't give me to your family?'

' I was telling the truth about that bit, at least. I am sad and angry about that every day. No matter what else I may be, and what I have done, please do not doubt my love for you, Hermione.'

She seemed to get a bit smaller. 'I used to be afraid, when people would tell me that.'

'Afraid? Why?'

'It seemed...it's better now.'

Lucius could sense she didn't want to talk about it. 'Are you ready to lie down now?'

She nodded and stood a trifle shakily. He stood with her, and pressed her to himself, holding her, comforting her.

'If you should like to talk about this more, we shall. But now you need your rest, hmm?'

She stood still. 'It's hard, Uncle.'

'I know.'

His niece, fifteen and the leader of their world, relaxed into his embrace for a second and then went into the bedroom. He watched her go. Things were only starting to get rough, but at least, in one small part of the world, life was a little better than it had been before, and that, he thought, might be a start.


	74. Chapter 74

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**A hundred house points to whomever can tell me why Rita's beetle form is called Small. Your hint is: 'Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.'**

Arthur Weasley had been, to put it mildly, startled when he found out the Bulgarians ran things, at least at the highest level, through a sort of town meeting approach that essentially opened the floor to whomever was present. Even the little boy, Tamm, seemed to get a turn to speak.

After everything that had happened in the past few weeks in regards to Bulgaria, he was past startlement and into shock, shock so smotheringly white that all he could do was go along with things, feeling encased in down, feeling like things had lost all sanity.

Now, sitting next to Dorina, he felt as though he were lost in a blizzard, flying on a broom through flakes that obscured everything, buffeted by wind and cold. He took in only bits and pieces of what was said after the two children (Ron's little friend!) were proclaimed tsar and tsarina, and in the four days since he'd only sometimes resurfaced.

Now was such a time. Sitting with Dorina on one side and the Minister of Estonia on the other, his head startled to clear a little. It was, he reflected, like having a bad cold. First one's ears were unstopped, then one's nose worked again, and finally the voice returned as it had been, and ready for use.

'But why' said the Polish minister truculently 'should the Poles be after the Estonians? Are Slavs not before Balts?'

'Technically' said the Estonian minister, a droll fellow who'd recently agreed so thoroughly with the Croatian minister that they'd come to blows in the corridor 'we Estonians aren't Balts anymore.'

'The fact remains that Slavs come before Balts, and Estonians, for this purpose, are counted as Balts. You've agreed to it, sir. You've signed your name to it. Do you name yourself a liar?'

'I name myself a man who might like to see his children again sometime soon, so if you are quite done, Minister…?'

The Polish minister sat down and glowered. Arthur turned his eyes away and looked at Penko Krum, who had, himself, an actual cold. He coughed violently and went back to work.

'So we're agreed on their Majesties' styles, is that correct?'

The ministers muttered agreement. Next to his brother, Rumen Krum sneezed and apologized, and then rose as the door opened and Anu Tamm's congested-sounding voice rang out.

'Their Majesties the tsar and tsarina, his grace Drago Seneschal Malfoy , his Serenity lord Lucius, father to the Seneschal and the Most Honourable Sirius Black, cousin to Her Imperial Majesty the tsarina.'

Tamm would not have the job much longer; Arthur knew that half the ministers in the room, or at least their families, were sending boys as pages or girls as companions to the Knyagina Yana, and one of them would be taking over.

Everyone bowed or curtsied as the group swept in. Arthur had not seen Lucius Malfoy in five years, except for the odd picture in the paper, and the change in him was startling. He was thin, greyish, stripped of some of that hauteur he had always born about him like a cloak.

'Uncle, perhaps this would be a good time for a light meal? The elves had set up some refreshments in the Small Hall, if this is a good stopping place.'

'It is, sire.'

'Minister Weasley, could I ask you to stay behind? And send for your wife?'

Arthur did it, and sat when invited to. Molly came in, flustered, nervous. She joined her hand with his under the table. 'Majesties?'

The girl smiled at them, looking like Ronnie's little friend and not a queen for a moment. 'Ron is fine and sends his greetings. He and our aunt Hetty are staying at Hogwarts.'

'Hogwarts?'

'They moved your son when they came for me, madam.' Lucius Malfoy's voice was still cut-glass, but his tone was softer than Arthur remembered, and if he didn't smile, neither did he sneer.

'Is he all right? Our son?'

'He is a very good boy, and quite the bravest young man imaginable. You should be very proud of him.'

'We are' said Molly immediately. 'He has always been brave.'

'And clever' said Arthur. 'He was not hurt when you saw him last?'

'He was recovering from the beating he took shortly before I was imprisoned, but the welts were healing nicely. Nagini was most displeased that he wanted to be up and about.'

'The snake, this is?'

'Yes. She's rather fond of us, you see, especially the children. She punched Fenrir Greyback in the face to defend Ivan. Ronald, I mean.'

'Punched him?'

'With her tail.'

Arthur snorted despite himself at the mental image. Molly poked him sharply in the side, grimacing. 'Ron is in danger!'

'Your son' said Krum softly 'is as safe as we might make him, Madam Weasley. Severus Snape is protecting him, and as strange as it sounds, Nagini is very protective. She will not let harm come to him if she can avoid it.'

'And Aunt Hetty, of course.'

'Is it true your aunt…the lady Hetty is…?'

'Expecting? Yes, she is. But she's very tough, and keen to help us.'

'How could she help? I don't mean any disrespect, Majesty, I'm just concerned for her health.'

Krum nodded to a deranged-looking elf, who handed over parchments. 'Ron and Gregory Goyle have discovered the Chamber of Secrets. They are in the process of figuring out how best to utilize this resource. And Aunt Hetty is a Parselmouth.'

'A Parselmouth?'

'Yes. She has friends…snakes, but friends…who will help us when the time comes.'

Both Weasleys nodded slowly. 'So the snake and your aunt are going to…'

'We've a plan in place.'

The girl leant forward. 'How are you dealing with this, if you don't mind my asking? Are you all right?' She reached out and Molly squeezed her hand. It felt natural, queen or no queen, because she had been their son's friend.

'We're coping, dear. Your Majesty.'

'It's all right, Madam Weasley. You may call me Hermione. We're united, in this, aren't we?'

'Yes' said Molly fiercely. 'And yourself? You must miss your…your parents…terribly.'

The girl dipped her head. 'Very much. We were also forced to leave my elderly aunt and uncle and my husband's father as hostages.'

'How awful.'

'Aunt Cunegarde is a very determined woman. If anyone will make a go of it, it's her. We're rather more concerned with the people on the ground.'

'The common people?'

'Yes. We have dispatched our wolves to begin the opening phases of the war via guerilla actions. It seems likely that there will be significant disruption of infrastructure before this is over.'

Arthur swallowed hard. 'What do they mean to do, precisely?'

'No civilian targets, but we need to strike at their ability to extend the conflict. We are invading this time, not being invaded, and it is in our interest to make the actual war itself as short as possible.'

Arthur nodded, his heart a stone. 'It is terrible to contemplate…'

'The sense we've sold our country, you mean? The idea of going down as the ones who turned Britain over to a foreign power?'

Young Malfoy spoke for the first time. His eyes, like his father's, were almost eerily light, and his voice was soft and measured. He gave the impression of being much older than he was, a world-weary man of fifty or sixty, rather than fifteen.

His wife was beside him, big-boned, not especially pretty but interesting to look at, lots of thick hair and beautiful eyes. Her air, as much as her husband's and brother's, was one of controlled violence, of the sheer joy of the fight. Arthur would not have dueled any of them and been confident he could win.

'Yes. Yes, that's it exactly.'

'Do you suppose, Minister, that any of us Englishmen here love Britain less than yourself? Would we be more eager to surrender if there were any other choice at all? I love my cousins and this country but I am English no less than you. For twelve hundred years our people have had no king, no lord and no supreme head other than the ones we've set over ourselves.'

The girl was nodding, and Malfoy Sr, and even Krum. 'In order for there to be a Britain at all when this is through, we must concede that the past is done and the future is the Empire.'

'What do you think, Molly?'

Molly's eyes were bright. 'I think it is the second-hardest thing I have ever had to do. The first was to send Ron home with those people. No offense, Mr. Malfoy, Seneschal. This is the second, making this choice.'

'I know.'

'Do it, Arthur. They're right. There won't be a Britain if we don't.'

'No. He means to burn it.'

'Burn it?'

'When we found Matthews, he told us—' Malfoy Jr shut his eyes and breathed deeply for a moment '—that the Dark Lord's quote on the subject was 'Let them rule charred meat and burnt bone'.'

Molly's mouth fell open. Arthur's stomach was heaving, and he stood up, excusing himself, and went to the closest quiet room. An elf brought him a basin and he vomited in it, hands braced on the wall as he did it. He was sure he'd not felt this absolutely ill in a long time.

When he came back, Molly was holding the Malfoy lad's head in her hands, speaking softly to him. 'We know you've done your best.'

'I keep seeing Mere on fire when I close my eyes.'

'It will all work out.'

'I should hope so.'

'Of course it will.'

The lad dropped his head, seemingly a bit abashed but also, if his body language was anything to go by, relieved. Arthur wished he could talk frankly to him, perhaps give him a hug; he'd heard the stories about him, what the men whispered as he passed, and if they were true it would be awful to be the lad, who'd hacked Stefan Borev's head from his shoulders in the snow and brought it back by the hair, to lay it at the feet of his cousins. And that was the mildest and most probable of the stories.

The girl leant forward a bit once everyone had settled. 'In a way, the Dark Lord has helped us in our quest to reduce civilian causalities. He's concentrated all the children at Hogwarts, and that's where Ron will come in, Ron and Gregory Goyle.'

Arthur's heart, once lead, was now a mouse's. He leant forward as well. 'How so?'

'We're hoping…'

There was a pause after the meetings and before dinner. Arthur met with Dorina Vulpes, who looked bemused and thoughtful. 'Good afternoon, Arthur.'

'Hello, Dorina.'

'I just go the strangest request from the little boy, the tsar's cousin.'

'Oh?'

'Something about a Doru Istok.'

'I don't know the name.'

'Nor did I, but I wonder if you'd like to help with this?'

'With what?'

Dorina explained and Arthur agreed at once. Molly, he knew, meant to fight to be with her children, as did he. Could he refuse this wolf a chance to see his boy again? Arthur agreed and it was set, and then he went to a quiet corner and wept a while for his country, which would never be the same.

In Hogwarts, Rita Skeeter was helping prepare for a wedding. She had somehow got drafted, apparently by dint of being female, and so she sat with the drab Honoria Rowle and the glowering Alecto Carrow and perused books of linen samples.

'I don't see' Alecto said finally 'the point of all this. Surely anything is fine? We are preparing for a war.'

Honoria Rowle shrugged noncomitally. 'I suppose.'

'This lavender is pretty.'

'That's fine. Honoria?'

'Hmm? Oh, yes, it's lovely.'

'That's decided, then. Lavender and cream for the linens and matching glassware.'

Alecto stood up and stalked off, as was her wont. Honoria waited a moment, nodded goodbye, and followed, presumably to go home. Quite alone, Rita checked her watch. Making sure she was not seen, she transformed into her beetle-form and flew toward the ceiling. It was a very long journey when one is as tiny as Small (her beetle-form's name), but she managed and sat down in a cozy little knothole, flittering her wings to cool off.

A friendly borer worm greeted her and they exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes before he went to gnaw a bit further on and she settled back, tempted to doze a little. Voices brought her back round, and she bent her head toward them, having long since learnt to use her rather weak beetle-eyes to best advantage.

Still flittering a bit for air circulation, she listened. One of the people down there, she realized at once, was Metellus, and he sounded vexed. Lovely, now she'd get to hear about this tonight as well.

'I still don't understand why we cannot simply take them unawares as they sleep. Even Bellatrix sleeps sometime, Amycus.'

'We've tried that, Metellus, and they still outfoxed us.'

'As though they won't suspect being suddenly invited to the wedding? After that…unfortunate slip…via Firecall a few weeks ago…'

'He's sending them a personal letter tonight forgiving them. They'll come. The Lestranges went to Azkaban for Him, they'll want to be back in His good graces.'

'And see the boy and the woman?'

'That too.'

'Quite toothsome, the woman.'

'She looks like someone I knew once. Can't remember who, precisely. Anyhow, Amycus, what do you need me to do?'

'Make sure wolves are covering the doors and windows. We don't want a scene if things should get interesting.'

'I'll have Greyback put ten wolves on it.'

'Do. This has to go perfectly.'

'It will. It will be fine, I'm sure of it.'

'How goes your…special project?'

Metellus made a droll face. 'Oh, swimmingly, swimmingly. Nary a complaint since word about the Midlands got out.'

'Shame it took so much expense to get them there.'

'Once the war is underway we can just le them go. That'll lower costs. Fourteen percent, I think. I did the maths on it.' He sounded pleased and proud to have cut down so much. Amycus made a politely interested noise.

'Need to go, Allie wants to take that little Bulgarian bastard for a walk and I somehow got roped into going as well.'

'It'll be fun.'

'Bite your tongue.' Amycus smiled a little despite himself and then went out a side entrance. Rita watched as Metellus did as well, following him, flapping as quickly as she could. She found Gregory Goyle in a corridor, holding the little boy by the hand.

'Now, be brave. She won't hurt you this time.'

'Vill.'

'You've got to have a good attitude about it, is all. Brave little soldier, remember?'

'Then ve go see Myrtle.'

'That's right. Be a good boy, Ivan.' Goyle Jr's massive hand came to rest fondly on the younger boy's head a second and then Alecto stomped in.

'Well, come along then, boy! Not you! You find some useful employment until we've returned!' Alecto grabbed Ivan's wrist and started off, hectoring him in a voice that could curdle milk.

Rita flew down and alighted on Goyle's collar. He nodded, great head moving with what felt like a huge air current. 'Hello, then, beetle.'

She rode on his shoulder until they came to a bathroom, of all places. He stepped inside and she changed back. It was filthy and dank, and smelt like mildew. 'What is this place.'

In answer, Goyle whistled like a nightingale. The floor slid open and Nagini's head poked out. She hissed companionably at them.

'Ay up, Nagini. You remember Madam Skeeter, don't you?'

'Well I don't' came a peevish voice from the ceiling. Rita looked up, startled by the ghost. 'Hello, there.'

'Who is this, Gregory?'

'A friend. Madam Skeeter, this is Myrtle. Myrtle, this is Madam Skeeter.'

'Skeeter? Didn't you used to throw books at me?'

'I was very young then.'

Myrtle sniffed. 'I suppose. What've you got, Greg?'

The lad reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag. He swished, and it grew until it was a sack, squirming and writhing. As Rita watched, he carefully tugged it to the edge of the pit and tipped it in, spilling a rain of snakes.

'What…?'

'Chamber of Secrets' said Goyle, as if he was commenting on the weather. 'We found it a few weeks ago.'

'Oh. What-'

He pulled her back. 'Nagini is overseeing this one. We've got something just as good for you.'

Nagini clamoured from the pit and went with them (Rita having turned into Small). Goyle led them to a non-descript section of corridor. Rita flittered to ask what he was about when the wall opened.

She turned back. 'The Room of Requirement!'

'Mmm hmm. We'll need your help on Saturday, Madam Skeeter.'

'With what?' She wasn't even sure she would be there, let alone able to do…what?

'We can't Portkey Madam Feathering, or Ivan. So they'll stay here.'

'Here as in here?'

'Mmm hmm.'

'What do I need to do?'

She hadn't noticed Snape until that moment. 'Get them here, their lives depend on it.'

'All right.'

Nagini had come up behind her. The snake wrapped her tail about Rita's middle and squeezed, hissing. What did that mean? Rita decided she'd rather not know. She listened to the plan and said nothing, hoping it went well, but not especially optimistic about her own chances. If she got the child and the woman here, it would be enough.

'And then wait for the rest to come.'

'Rest of what?'

'The army' said Snape drily.

She blinked. 'You mean wait here for…'

'Weeks or months, yes.'

The snake squeezed harder and Rita nodded. 'All right.' What else could she say to that?

Elsewhere, Barty Crouch was thinking much the same. He frowned, adding a little more brown to Apples' tail, and then eyed the picture. Was it a good likeness? He rather thought it was.

He heard Goose barking and stood up, hoping it was Anu or Draco. It was Sirius but that was almost as good, and he had Draco with him! Barty grinned and came to greet them both. Draco seemed very skinny to him lately, and tired.

Sirius shook his hand warmly. 'Barty, how was it today?'

'Fine. Quiet. Where are Sose and Anu?'

'Sose's in Sofia with Hermione and Vaike, trying to work out where to put those wolves. Ivan's offered most of the castle, and so have a lot of vassals, but some of the ministers are demanding foreign nationals be repatriated—brought back home to their own lands.'

'Hmmph' snorted Barty. 'Maybe they should have been nice to them when they had a chance.'

'That's what I said' Draco agreed, sitting down, rubbing his eyes. Barty touched his forehead, feeling his fever. Draco tolerated it, grumbling, and then slumped back, asking for hot herbal tea and some ginger biscuits.

Barty intercepted the biscuits. 'You're sick.'

'Just a few, Barty.'

'Fruit.'

'Barty.'

'Fruit.'

Draco looked cross. 'I am second in command to the tsar, you know.'

'I've known you for a long time.'

'Fine, fine. I'll have a plum and then some biscuits.'

'Thank you.' He wished he could send all the children to bed for at least a few days but he couldn't. The war was coming. Draco obediently munched his plum and had a few biscuits and then stood up.

'I'm taking a shower and then a nap.'

'I thought I'd have one too. A nap.'

A flash of gratitude crossed Draco's face. 'All right. Half an hour?'

'Half an hour.'

Barty had been rather less shocked than most people when he'd found out Sirius was alive. Hadn't the same thing happened to him? It was of much more interest to him that Sirius was also Salazar, though, admittedly, he'd found it odd that Salazar travelled without Sev sometimes.

Sirius looked tired too. Barty offered him a biscuit. 'Sirius?'

'Sorry, nodded off a moment there.'

'You should get some sleep too.'

'No time, Barty. We have to be back by nine to finalise the borders and set up embassies in non-Imperial countries.'

'What about the wolves?'

'Some of them will come here, likely. You'll help, won't you?'

Barty nodded, delighted at the idea. 'They can feed the goats with me!'

'Yes, and get better. They're going to be very sickly and scared for a long time.'

'Because Greyback is a bad, bad man.'

'He is.'

'Scared like Sose, you mean? The ladies?'

Sirius nodded. 'A lot of them.'

'You should tell them my mind's broken. I can't hurt anyone.'

'No one thinks your mind is broken.'

'It is, though. Do you expect…' Barty trailed off, flashes of things lighting up his brain. Sirius waited patiently for him to come back. 'Will some of them be broken too?'

'Some of them might, Barty.'

'Then we can all be broken together, so it's all right.' Barty sometimes wished he knew people like himself. He loved his family, but they weren't broken like him, and that gave him a weird pain in his belly sometimes.

Sirius clapped his shoulder. 'Reg always said you'd a good heart.'

Barty thought of another similarity between himself and the wolves. 'People think we're dangerous, too.'

'Yes, sometimes.'

Barty looked round. 'Sirius?'

'Yes, Barty?'

'Make them all be careful. I can't go, but you're going. Watch them, especially the children.'

'I promise I will.'

Barty leant back and shut his eyes a moment. 'Is everyone in Sofia still sick?'

'As crups. Vata's at hospital just to be sure.'

'He needs to be.'

Enver Vata, because he'd lost most of his skin, was very likely to get sick, as Draco explained it. He was in hospital because the sickness had spread to his lungs and he wouldn't rest, so he had to rest there until he was well. Barty was making the picture of Apples for him.

Barty went and laid down with Draco, who was coughing fiercely. Barty sent for a warm blanket to put atop him and then, very carefully and gently, put an extra pillow under him so he could breathe.

He must have drifted off, because when he woke up, there was a lot of noise in the courtyard. He leapt up and ran to the window. Dozens of people milled in the yard, shouting, crying. They were awfully small, thought Barty, and then realised.

'Draco, there are children down there.'

Draco got up, and they ran down together. 'What is this?'

Sandru Istok bowed. 'My lords. These are werewolves.'

The courtyard, as it transpired, was absolutely jammed full of children. Barty liked children. He could do this. He found a spot and knelt down, waiting. A child toddled to him, wailing, and Barty lifted her up.

Draco seemed surprised. 'It's days early, Sandru!'

'Yes, your grace, it is. We rather had to move. We got the Egyptians to send us some of their mages and they've set up an illusion that should hold for a few days, but…we had to take them now. He…Greyback was…he was …' Sandru sat down, and Barty saw he was shaking. Draco bent and murmured something into his ear, and Sandru murmured back. Draco's eyes widened.

'I'm taking that fucker's head if I get half a chance. Sorry.'

Barty wanted to scold him for his language but there was too much to do. 'Winky!'

'Master Barty?'

'Food and then baths for everyone, all right? And nappies, this little girl just wee'd all over me.'

The elves came and started to work, and Sandru grinned at him. 'Thank you, my lord. I hate to leave them here but…'

'Go, Sandru, I'm behind you as soon as this is sorted out.' Draco sent his own valet to borrow more elves to help.

Draco came and leant against him a second. 'Good thing we've napped, Barty.'

'I think so. Ready?'

Barty would never be able to fight like the others. He couldn't have a wand or use his magic much at all. But he supposed he didn't need to in order to help win the war. He turned and plunged in, head back, feeling very proud and very grateful.

Sad, though. He hoped none of these children were broken. He knew how that was.


	75. Chapter 75

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers**

**This was a hard chapter. I tried to balance the absolute horror of the situation with the sense that things can get better, and humans can find things to smile about even in the darkest moments. It's mood whiplash, but hopefully it's good mood whiplash.  
**

Nicolae Pavel was trying not to laugh whilst dodging nuns, a surprisingly challenging feat at the moment. He was dodging nuns because those redoubtable ladies had, with permission from his Beatitude, come to help with the current logistical disaster, despite their vows of enclosure. It would, judged the Patriarch, be a worse sin to know that a thousand children had needed help and done nothing. Pavel was inclined to agree, and so welcomed them.

He sidestepped an elderly lady in a wimple-like headdress and apologized, looking down. 'Pardon, sister.'

The sister, two waving infants held to her chest, smiled a little. 'Please, sir, go.'

He was trying not to laugh for a different and altogether more complicated reason, which will take some explaining. But it had all begun two nights earlier, and nothing had been funny to start with, and for a long time after:

Galca, wobbling a little, was gently leading a small herd of starving, ragged children toward the room where the elves would bathe them, treat the massive influx of parasites they all, to the one, were suffering from, and then dress them in whatever came to hand, to be put to bed in a hastily created dormitory.

Beside Pavel, Paavo Kask hissed under his breath and squatted down. A little boy, no more than three, was clutching his legs, bawling, and Paavo was trying to wipe his nose clean and calm him at the same time, neither of which was happening.

Pavel scooped the small boy up. 'Hello there. Let's blow our nose, love, all right?'

The little boy kept bawling but nodded, reassured by Pavel's smell. Paavo managed to get the worst of it.

'I know, mate, it hurts. Shhh, we'll fix it.' The boy's nose was scabbed and raw looking and Paavo called for salve, which the boy promptly tried to eat. He failed, but allowed Pavel to hand him back, whereupon he grabbed Paavo's neck and refused to be dislodged.

Paavo was slightly green about the gills but looking better than he had an hour earlier, when they'd arrived. If he had not thoroughly endeared the wolves to himself previously, his place in the Pack was set for life, because he'd taken a single look, turned white, and swallowed.

'Nicolae, the fu-he-what is this?'

'Children. Greyback was killing whomever he couldn't take with him.'

Paavo had got whiter. 'Oh, my God.'

'And we-'

The wind turned and Paavo had nodded slowly, listening. Then, in a very calm voice, he'd said 'I can't. Sorry. I can't.' He'd bent in two and vomited, hard, the contents of his stomach rebelling against the stench and what he was hearing.

That alone had not endeared him, though they'd liked him no less. It was simply that, when he'd finished, and swished his mouth, he'd vanished his mess, stood up straighter and said 'Good, that's done with. What can I do to help?'

Alise Scabior bustled over, sweating, with a phial. 'Help me get this in—what's your name, sweetheart?'

The boy stopped crying. 'Dunno' he said thoughtfully, settling more firmly against Paavo's neck. He inserted a grimy finger and sucked on it. When she handed him the phial he gulped it and looked round for more.

'We're going to have some nice soup and a bath, all right?'

The boy nodded. 'Mmm.'

Arco passed him, holding one of the older children firmly by the arm. The boy was fighting him like a fox in a trap, snapping and growling. 'Fucking cunt! Let me go!'

Pavel walked as quickly as he could to intervene. 'Enough!'

'Fuck you!'

Pavel grabbed the little stick-like arms. 'Why are you fighting?'

'The fuck did they take my sisters? Who are you people?'

'We're Romanians in the employ of the tsar and tsarina. It's all right, you're safe.'

'My sisters! What've you cunts done with them?'

Pavel knew he had no choice. He held the boy harder and forced him to his knees, growling. The kid was strong, and feisty; he lashed out with his nails, and there was a short, angry wrestling match that ended with the kid on his back as Pavel gently pressed his neck and growled harder. 'No! Stop it right now!'

The kid went limp, and gave a sullen, very human grunt. Pavel held him a moment longer. 'Adjust your attitude, please.'

The boy looked down. 'Sorry.'

'Better. Your sisters are getting baths. Everyone is taking a bath and then having some dinner and going to bed.'

The kid wriggled a bit and Pavel pressed down, staring to assert dominance. 'What's your name?'

'Bojan.'

'Bosnian?'

'Serb.'

'Your sisters?'

'Milka and Sasa.'

'How old are they?'

Bojan shrugged. 'Dunno. Milka's little—she has all her milk teeth still. Sasa's…she was a suckling when we left Serbia. She had some milk teeth and some meat teeth.'

'What about you?'

Bojan frowned, thinking. 'I had three meat teeth when we left. Now I have all meat teeth.'

'Where are your parents?'

'Fuck you think?'

'Attitude.'

'Dead. Fever took them both.'

Pavel started to get up. 'When I stand, you're going to stand too. I need you to be a good example to the cubs, all right?'

'Yeah.'

Pavel squeezed his shoulder and growled soothingly. 'Good boy.'

Entering the formal reception room, Pavel caught site of the tsar of most of Europe, currently washing a scared-looking child's hair, trying to scrub out a vile crust of who-knew-what, and singing softly to distract her.

'Majesty?'

'Hello, Pavel. We're having a bath.'

'That's good. Bojan, find an empty tub, please, and bathe. Do you need help with your hair?'

'No.'

The boy wandered off toward the tub, looking tentative for the first time. Pavel suspected he hadn't had a bath in at least four years. The tsar was still scrubbing, and still singing to the child.

'Majesty, I regret things took this turn.'

'I don't. These children might not have had… better we did it this way.'

Pavel squatted down and touched the girl's cheek. She sniffed him. 'Wolf?'

'Yes.'

She pointed at Viktor. 'Human?'

'That's right.'

She considered, and then, frowning, gestured to the soap. 'Stinky. Don't like it.'

'You will once you're used to it.'

'No.'

Pavel smiled. 'Her Majesty?'

'Feeding them. Weak broth and bread right now. Their bellies are too shrunken for anything better. We've got most of the healers in the city here and more are coming every minute. And people from outside are coming in to help.'

'Outside?'

'Citizens. Is that a problem?' Krum was still trying to wash the filth from the child's matted hair. The girl endured it, too busy trying to sniff both men a bit more.

'Human smell funny.'

'Different, not funny.'

'Funny.'

Krum snorted and then asked Pavel to cover the girl's eyes as he rinsed. The water was turning absolutely grey with dirt.

'No, sire. I'm just surprised they want to help.'

Krum kept rinsing. 'I'm not. It's the right thing to do.'

Pavel chucked the little one's cheek, ordered her not to bite the tsar (not maliciously, just to taste) and withdrew, with Krum's permission, to find the tsarina.

The girl was indeed feeding them. Specifically, she was spooning broth into the mouth of a child who was too busy goggling to feed himself. 'Hello, Mr. Pavel.'

'Your Majesty. May I help?'

'Please do. I think the boy next to you could use some help.'

Pavel took up a spoon. 'This is amazing.'

She smiled and gently prompted the little boy to eat a few swallows more. 'Isn't it? So many people want to help.'

'His Majesty is in the bathing chamber.'

'We're going to switch in half an hour. Are you all right?'

'I am…it is hard to see.'

'Shall we speak English?'

'Might we?'

He cancelled the charm. '_We have pictures of all of it.'_

'_I should like to see them.'_

'_I recommend against it.'_

She raised a brow, still feeding. '_Because you're afraid it will upset me?'_

'_Well, yes, but not like you think. If we show you, no one who did it will be alive to try.'_

She smiled a little. '_That might happen anyway.'_

'_I should think so, Majesty. The men are…perturbed.'_

'_I don't blame them a bit. I am so sorry all of you saw that.'_

So was Pavel. '_Eugen and the Egyptians got some very good shots of…things.'_

'_Things?'_

'_He was killing the ones he couldn't take. We intercepted the…his designated…'_

'_Ah. The bodies? Of Greyback's men, I mean.'_

'_Nothing to fear, Majesty.'_

'_If he finds them ahead of time…'_

'_That is not a concern.'_

'_Couldn't he smell them, though?'_

Pavel wasn't sure how to phrase this next bit. '_We didn't leave much. There were a good many of us, and we were angry.'_

Which is to say that those of his boys Greyback had left to do his butcher's work were in pieces, tossed into the reeking latrines that encircled the camp, torn literally limb from limb by hundreds of enraged wolves.

She nodded. '_All right, then._'

By dawn, they had processed a quarter of the children at the Ministry and were still going strong. Most of the younger people had finally agreed to go to bed for a few hours when Lucius Malfoy insisted flatly and repeatedly, and promptly enlisted the aid of multiple elves to see they'd complied. Still, it was not nearly enough, and all of them smelt like sickness and exhaustion.

Malfoy Sr himself was minding a herd of older children. Human he might have been, but the man had a presence, and he managed to break up quite a few tussles with nothing more than a stern look and a downturn of his mouth.

He was currently directing it at Paavo Kask. 'Paavo, I believe I'd asked you some time ago to go to bed.'

Paavo nodded. 'I can't set him down.' The nameless little boy was still burrowed into Paavo, sleeping. 'He'll be scared when he wakes up alone, Uncle.'

Malfoy Sr's face softened. 'You are very sick, Paavo. He'll be fine, I swear it.'

Pavel took the sleeping toddler and carefully shifted him to Malfoy Sr. 'Give me your handkerchief, Paavo. He'll smell your scent when he wakes up and feel better. Word on Enver?'

'Still sick, the mad cu—fool. Costin and I tore strips off his hide for this.'

'Go spend some time, Paavo. Nap and have them dose you, you need it.' Paavo had a thick, phlegmy smell about him, and his breathing was a touch labored. He was as sick as the others, and wouldn't admit it, but lying to a wolf is functionally impossible, at least face-to-face.

Costin cleared his throat. 'I'm going to make sure he does it.'

'Do, please.'

Like most wolves, Galca had never married or fathered children. He had taken to both younger men, and Pavel suspected that they had become the children he'd never had. He could believe that Galca had read Vata the riot act over refusing to be sensible.

Malfoy Sr smoothed the boy's fine hair. 'A pretty child.'

'He is.'

They sat in silence a moment. 'Your friend' said Malfoy Sr finally 'is not well. He was coughing blood earlier.'

'Galca, you mean?'

'Yes.'

'I know. He's got cirrhosis.'

'Sorry?'

'Liver failure. He drinks.'

They watched as Paavo and Galca came back outside to Apparate, Galca blessing Paavo out for something. Paavo was pink, arguing, but Pavel could smell that he liked it a bit too. It was easy to forget how damned young they really were, these schoolchildren turned rulers of the free Wizarding world.

Malfoy Sr was no wolf, but his nose, too, was sharp. He tipped his head to watch them go.

'It is hard, to watch a child make unwise choices, when one cares about them.'

Pavel transfigured a leaf into a blanket for the snoozing, nameless cub. 'It is. But we're here to guide them.'

'Quite so.'

Malfoy Sr started rocking gently, and the boy's breath deepened as he drifted fully into sleep.

Eight hours later, Sose Tamm was rubbing her eyes and trying to find the will to move. Her back was crackling and her feet were starting to swell in her shoes. And it was very pleasant in this patch of sunlight, baby in her arms.

The baby stirred. She yawned nuzzling against Sose, a little hand coming up to clutch her apron. The baby cooed softly and then went still a moment as she wet.

Sose set her down on the blankets they had set on nearly every hard surface and unstuck her nappy to change her. The baby kicked, giggling, happy to have an adult paying attention to her. Sose kissed the tender little belly and giggled back, gently caressing a tiny foot to see the toes flex.

Kreacher was at her elbow, scowling. 'Mistress Sose, let Kreacher do it.'

'I don't mind. I still remember how.' She was almost done, anyway, fastening the nappy and wishing she had a little gown to put over it. They were desperately collecting cast-off clothing from any and everywhere, but there just wasn't enough, which was why most of the littlest ones were roaming about in nappies and the older children in whatever would fit and was clean. They'd transfigured every spare towel, sheet and napkin and it was not nearly enough, still.

That was the least of their problems. Most of the children were sick, riddled with lice, scabies and intestinal worms. Most of them had never seen, or did not remember how to use, any kind of plumbing, either indoor or outhouses. Or how to use forks and knives, sleep in beds, speak their own tongues, or even what their parents' names had been.

And the older ones were feral. They'd snap, trying to bite if approached, and fought fiercely for food, for blankets, and because they were afraid. Sose wanted to help them even more than she wanted to run and hide, but at Pavel's gentle insistence she was confining herself to the littlest ones.

And even those things were not the worst. One whole wing of the Ministry had been converted into a sort of hospital ward, because the hospital was full. It was silent, with healers and elves moving in the terrible knowledge that the children there would not live very long, and so, because they were beyond help, had been given a warm, clean place to die.

That was where Anu had stationed himself. Given the choice, he had chosen that, and when she'd asked him, he had slipped into her arms. 'I've done it before, Nene. I don't want anyone else to have to.'

'Anu…'

'It's right, is all.' So she'd sent him, and checked sometimes to see that he was as well as he could be. He was going row by row, stopping to smooth blankets, stroke hair, smile, murmuring encouragingly.

'Aunt Cissy said when Lofstrom died that at least he doesn't hurt anymore, and is whole and well. Do you expect that's…?'

'I think I do.'

'He was scared, Nene. Loftstrom. He cried. They don't need to be. Afraid.'

'No' she agreed, and joined him for a while, holding their hands, trying to make sure that they weren't scared of what was to come. But she had had to come back, amongst the living, and so here she was, playing with scrawny little babies. They were undernourished, wormy, fragile. But alive, blessedly alive, and every one of them was beside themselves to have someone to cuddle them and give them attention.

Kreacher was helping her, withered face alight with joy. 'So many babies for Mistress Sose and Kreacher!'

Sose jiggled the baby and set her down in one of the cribs the elves were transfiguring from sticks and leaves. The baby waved until her sleepiness took her and her eyes drifted shut. Sose was so busy watching she didn't hear Sirius approach until he nudged her hand with his nose. She looked down and lightly patted his neck.

He changed back. 'Hello, darling. Who's this?'

'She hasn't got a name, that we know of.'

Sirius shook his head, a look of intensity creeping over his face, jaw working. Through great force of will, Sose managed to remember to not be afraid. He wasn't angry at her, she reminded herself. He was just angry at whoever'd done this. Greyback and the others.

He touched her arm. 'Why don't we give her one?'

'Arjeta is pretty.'

'That's a good name. What about the others?'

Sose looked round. There were dozens of infants here, with no names, no parents, no nationality, no languages of their own. If the parents were alive in Britain, and if they could recognise their children (and that was by no means sure—according to the older children, the ones who weren't feral, the families had been deliberately separated to keep the children from getting attached to them instead of the Pack) then they might not like having their child renamed.

But it could weeks or months, and they couldn't be nameless. Barty's goat had a name, and the dogs, and even Alise's little pet bird. It would be wrong to deny a child a name. So she nodded.

'They won't get upset? That we didn't ask?'

'I doubt it.'

So that's what they did. Kreacher wrote the names above each crib and on tags to put round each little one's wrist. It was, thought Sose, a rather odd mix, as Sirius was giving English-style names and she Albanian, so that little Jetmir was sharing a crib with Edward and Blerta with Alice, but the babies didn't mind, and at least it was a start.

Anu joined them halfway, shaking a little. 'Needed a break' he said simply, and lifted the first baby he came to. The baby flailed, delighted at the attention. Sirius touched Anu's head.

'Kiddo, after this, I want you to help Draco for a while. Or Barty. Don't go back there right now.'

'Someone has to, Baba.'

'I know. Let me take it a while.'

'Have you ever?'

'Don't worry about it.'

'That means no.'

Sirius cuffed his arm gently. 'I mean it, kid. It's an adult's turn. I'm not saying you can't, I'm saying let's spread it around.'

Anu nodded, still snuggling the baby. 'All right, Baba. Does he have a name yet? This boy?'

'Why don't you name him?'

'Agon. Like…'

'That's a good one. And the boy next to him?'

'Visar. Like my lord grandfather.'

'Good names, both of them. Sose?'

'Lule and Lindita.'

'Excellent. Ralph and Michael.'

'Why aren't you choosing names like yours, Baba?'

Sose had wondered that as well. Sirius smiled a little and kissed the baby—Agon—on the head. 'Another of my people's terrible customs. Which is' he said, seeing both Tamms looking shocked 'to say that I don't know how those names would sound in, say Croatian. Easy names are better so we can translate them if need be.'

It took them almost two hours to see everyone named. There were ninety-six babies, and at the end each of them had a first name. The elves circulated, holding warm bottles of thinned milk, suitable to shrunken little bellies.

Kreacher bustled up. He was beaming, nearly glowing with excitement to have babies to care for again. 'Elves will do this part; all of you go and get some fresh air. And Master Anu, Kreacher is coming with a draught for your cough.'

'All right, Kreacher.'

Outside, Anu caught sight of Drago and ran to see where he was needed next. Sose and Sirius found themselves a relatively quiet corner and sat down. 'Sirius?'

'Hmmm?'

'Would you sleep in the bed tonight? Just' she said quickly 'sleep. If that's all right.' Knowing that if he refused to just sleep she wouldn't say anything against it.

'I would love to.' He brushed her hand and she found herself blushing, thankful that he would never refuse, and proud that she knew it.

No one was angry that the babies had been named. If anything, it was a help, because, as near as Viktor could reckon it, they now had nearly a thousand starving, sick children, the vast majority of whom were apparent orphans, and, because of the way Greyback had run things, spoke not their own native tongues or even English, but a kind of cant that incorporated half a dozen languages and then some and turned them into an impenetrable dialect.

Some of the older ones had names that indicated a clear ethnic background, but many had names that existed in several Slavic languages, or no names, so, in desperation, they had decided to simply name them as Sose and her family had. And a few of the children remembered having names, and so kept them. But the younger ones, the ones with no siblings or memory of parents, land or tongue, simply started fresh.

At the moment, bone tired, Viktor was sitting with his wife in the hall, children curled up in both their arms. The little girl in his lap, he thought warily, was about to bite him. Not cruelly—it was simply that the children were curious, and playful, and wanted to show it.

She opened his mouth, and Viktor said 'No, Milka. Let's hug instead of bite, all right?'

Milka drew her brows together but nodded, and then flung her little skinny arms about his neck and squeezed. Even as small and weak as she was, he could feel the coiled strength there, so different than a human child the same size.

Viktor hugged him back, sighing as he felt little teeth gently seize the neck of his tunic and tug carefully. Milka was making a low growl that Arco swore was a happy noise, and she sighed in contentment, human-like, and snuggled closer.

'Bath tonight?'

'Yes, baths every night.'

'Bread?'

'And butter, and milk.'

'Bread.' She beamed, like he was talking about Christmas and not a slice of bread with a little butter slathered on it.

'Meat?'

'Bread and meat every night, remember, Milka?'

She looked a little uncertain. Was she trying to fool him? Was this some sort of trick? Viktor hugged her closer and felt her squirm. 'Do you need to wee, Milka?'

Milka shook her head. 'Before.' The children, Pavel had explained, tended to distrust the indoor plumbing as a function of their otherwise-healthy urge not to defile where they ate. Having discovered this twice the hard way no less than twice, Viktor now made it a point to ask frequently.

Hermione had been kneazle-sleeping with a few children in her lap but now she gently set them down and stood up, sending an elf for some headache powders in a cup of strong tea.

'Take a proper potion and lie down, Hermione. I'll wake you.'

'No, I need to go see Alise about the sleeping arrangements for the older children.

'Not a prayer. Don't think I won't carry you to the bedroom myself.'

She made a face at him and leant into his chest. They'd laid down a little while but simply couldn't be in bed more than an hour before they were needed again.

'Hermione, you're going to bed.'

'For a few minutes.'

'For a long time. I don't insist much.'

'You come too.'

'For a bit.'

She opened her eyes, started to say something and then he caught her as her knees unhinged and eased her back into the chair. She smiled at him. 'You're still the best Seeker in the world, sweet.'

'No, that's Gonzales in Spain. I'm not in the ranking and you are going to bed. Arms round my neck, please.'

'Viktor!'

'Hermione!'

'You can't carry me out. You're the tsar!'

'I remember hearing that. Three, two, and—up.' He lifted her just as a small gaggle of little ones came over, sniffing them both worriedly. Milka touched Hermione's back, smelt thoroughly, and then turned to Viktor.

'Girl-human fall down.'

'Hermione's belly feels sad right now, sweetheart. She's having a nap and then we'll come and play some more, all right?'

Milka's face lit up. 'Nap?'

'That's right.'

He sent for Pavel to let him know they'd be gone a while. Pavel had been close-by, it would seem. He came at once, and when he saw Viktor holding Hermione he sped up.

'Majesties?'

'We're fine. The tsarina is a little light-headed, so we're off to sleep a bit. Drago and yourself are in charge in our absence. Make the sick keep taking their potions, please.'

Pavel nodded. 'Of course, sire.'

The children, behind them, had formed a rough column, some joining hands. Milka took Pavel's. 'Nap!'

Pavel snorted helplessly. 'Sire, did you happen to mention it to the children? Your plan?'

'I told Milka the tsarina's not feeling very well, yes.'

Pavel snorted harder. 'Oh, dear.'

'What's wrong? Are they all right?'

Sandru, with a sheath of parchments, came in looking for Pavel. Milka waved enthusiastically. 'Nap!'

'Nap? Sandru, nap!' A boy called Edmund ran to take Sandru's hand and lead him into the column.

Now Sandru was trying not to laugh. 'Edmund, love…'

'Mr. Pavel? Mr. Istok?'

Milkka saved the wolves, who were trying not to laugh too hard to answer. She put her arms round Viktor's leg and gave him a friendly little gnaw on the calf. Then she stood up. 'Pack sleep together.'

'Sorry?'

She looked very patiently up at him, no bigger than a three-year-old, though the healers swore she was at least six and possibly as old as eight. 'Boy-human, Pack sleep together. Safe that way.'

'You mean they want to…to come with us?'

Pavel lost the fight and started to laugh. Sandru Istok was a touch calmer. 'Wolves don't like sleeping alone. It's a compliment, really. They trust you to keep them safe. And they like you.'

Viktor shook his head helplessly. 'It wouldn't be…we can't possibly…'

Hermione spoke from his arms. 'The elves will bring our mattress to…where can we go? Niska?'

'Formal dining room, Mistress.'

'All right. And lots of sleeping mats, and we'll all have a nap.'

Viktor dropped his head and smelt her hair. 'It will be an adventure.' He couldn't just abandon all these little ones, even if he had rather wanted a little privacy. Oh, well, there would be other times.

So, carrying the tsarina and leading a crocodile of children who refused to countenance their sleeping alone, the tsar of Bulgaria and the Slavs, Grand Prince of the Baltic Peoples, High Lord of Albania, Romania, Scandinavia and Poland, and Imperial Protector of Egypt, Greece, France and Great Britain had sighed a little and gone to have his nap.

And that was why Pavel was laughing.


	76. Chapter 76

**A/N: This was a hard one, y'all. Still, I think things came about as well as they could. **

**Also, everything terrible really _does_ happen to Travers. He's objectively correct in his assessment of that. In fairness, though, it's because he's a repulsive little man, and he deserves it. **

It had been, Cunegarde thought, a splendid meal. The elves had gone all out, and each course had had its own wine, in order that those bastards should not get any. Most of the really fine stuff had been shipped abroad long since, but she'd had them save back a bottle of each vintage, and they'd all had some. She'd got to enjoy all the foods she had ceased eating when they grew too rich for her—oysters in cream, roast artichoke soup, braised duckling, three sorts of vegetable, bread and butter, and then a blanc-mange speckled with edible flowers for dessert.

Erasmus raised his glass. 'I have lived a long life. Too long. But I am glad to spend the last bit of it with such good friends.'

They toasted, and then Martin stood, bowed, kissed her hand a last time. His boots sounded very loud in the corridor. Erasmus turned to Cunegarde.

'Gardie, it is time to go?'

'It is, Erasmus. It is.'

They had chosen her bedroom. Erasmus's elves loaded them into the bed, and Linky brought them both the final draught, stirred into violet-water in the family's wedding chalices. Nine hundred years, she thought, the line was unbroken, and here it ends. And begins with the girl, anew. It is best like this. Best.

Each of them took a chalice, and carefully looped their arthritic elbows to feed each other the poison. 'I plight my troth, in the sight of ancestors and the assembled, to this woman.'

'I plight my troth, in the sight of ancestors and the assembled, to this man.'

They drank. The poison tasted of nothing, just the violet water. She drained the chalice and gave it to Linky. It would, Snape had indicated, take a little time. She touched her miniatures, anticipation prickling her spine. Soon, darlings, soon.

'I take this woman as my wife, from this day to the end of days.'

'I take this man as my husband, from this day to the end of days.'

Erasmus turned to her, grinning toothlessly. 'We won't have been married long, but that's all right.'

'Quite all right.'

He laid back. 'I love you, Gardie. We shall see Clothilde soon, and she will understand.'

'And my children.'

'Them most of all.'

He quieted. Cunegarde twined her fingers, creaking rustily, with his, and waited, and soon his breathing slowed, hitched, stop. Linky had the letters, she reminded herself, the elf knew what to do.

The room was fading, going grey as if with twilight. Ermentrude, she thought, and Aethelfred. My parents and sisters. Soon, loves, soon. And then, before she'd realised it, her heart had quite stopped.

She blinked as if waking from a short nap. She raised a hand—a smooth, young hand—to her hair, which was dark now, and hers. She could hear the sea, and footsteps, and then she smelt verbena, and knew.

'Mother? Is that you? Are you here?'

Eda was there beside her. 'Darling, I have never left you. Are you ready to come?'

Cunegarde stood, legs firm with muscle, leaving the ruined prison of her flesh behind. Nothing screamed protest. Nothing was bent. She spared her old body a single look. It was like used laundry, she reflected. Poignant but also a little repulsive, and, she saw now, not really **her.**

Hands stirred her hem. 'Trudie? Freddie?'

She bent and felt them. Warm, she thought dizzily, they are warm. The tears came then, for the first time in a long while. The children squirmed like puppies in her arms, and she stood and set them both upon her hips, feeling their little lips burrowing to kiss her cheeks, and the solid heaviness of them, the toddler sturdiness.

They walked what seemed a very short ways, though of course it wasn't. She could see things, the whole of the earth, the suffering and the terrible beauty of it all, and in the midst the small moments that are our lives, the invisible actions we make, our kindnesses, our squalor, and the fact that we try. That of all things—that humans are crude, greedy, easily panicked, cruel, spiteful, arrogant, unthinking. But we try not to be, sometimes, and sometimes it even works.

The smell of the sea again, and they came upon a boat docked and waiting, rocking gently in the tide. A holiday crowd stood round it, all the people of the world come at last as holidaymakers for the last great voyage. She set down the children and took a bench. 'Mother?'

'Yes, Gardie?'

'There is something I must do. Perhaps not here, but it has to be done.'

'Is it some unfinished business?'

'I suppose it is.'

Her mother touched her cheek. 'We have time, my darling. Do whatever you need.'

Cunegarde stood and scanned the crowd, not sure whom she sought. Then she saw them, and knew, and they met one another halfway. There was an awkward pause, as when strangers must talk on a public transportation, and then Cunegarde decided she would just do it, and the hell with the rest.

'I am so sorry.'

The woman touched her arm. 'We know. She knows too.'

Cunegarde felt the tears coming again. 'You should be so proud of her.'

'We are.'

The man suggested they walk a little ways and so they did. Cunegarde heard the ship's bell toll and she turned to go. 'Are you coming?'

'No. We'll wait a while.' The woman looked remarkably like Rodolphus's wife when she smiled.

The ferry took them, Cunegarde and the others, over the sea and away, third star to the right and on until morning, and because the next bit is beyond human speech, rest assured that it was very beautiful, and all that is not music there is silence. So we must leave them there, safe in the knowledge that wrongs that been righted and what was lost had been found.

It was the worst wedding Metellus Travers had ever been to, and he had been to some awful weddings. He sat next to the twitching Amycus Carrow and tried not to breathe the man's powerful stink of pomade and nervousness. On his other side, Jonas Avery was making nauseating faces at Alecto, who brindled and coquetted like a girl. It was sickening.

On the dais, the bride was crying again. No one paid attention. She'd been crying for days, and would, given what Travers knew of young Mulciber's, proclivities, probably cry quite a bit more before dawn came.

His eyes found Rita, who was sitting with the Bulgarian boy and the Feathering woman by the door. Travers' normally tetchy sense of honour would have been pricked by this had he not put her there himself, to keep her from the violence that was about to start.

The Dark Lord stood to offer a toast. 'Friends, we are gathered here on this happiest of days in order to celebrate the nuptials of Yseult and Wetherell Mcnair. Would anyone like to say a word?'

Many boring speeches had been prepared to cover the wolves falling into place, and Travers girded himself for at least an hour's worth before the killing could start. Mulciber started, droning on and on in his thick brogue, until Travers noticed Goyle Sr starting to nod. Goyle Jr was with Rita, corralling the boy.

It went for some forty-five minutes, and then the Dark Lord stood up. 'Thank you, Archie. Most inspirational. Bring in the fruit.'

That was the signal. The Death Eaters stood and drew, young Mcnair shoved the French girl under the table and the Lestranges and Malfoys were up and firing, sensing the jaws of the trap springing closed.

Travers had never been a very good dueler, but to be in the Inner Circle a degree of combat-competency was necessary, so he dove in, trying for either the Malfoy woman or Eugenia Lestrange.

More wolves were pouring in from all sides, cutting off the Lestranges and Malfoys from escape. Or should have, except that a curious thing was happening, which is to say that they seemed to be gaining ground, somehow.

Metellus ducked and fired back as young Malfoy sighted him. The kid was fifteen, where had he learnt to do this? Travers fired back but found himself moving blindly back to avoid Malfoy Jr's closing the gap. He felt something hit him in the chest with teeth rattling force, and then he was on the ground and watching.

Bellatrix Lestrange, arm moving like a striking snake, and then Rowle flew backward, bleeding, gurgling. A wolf tried to hex her and she whirled and brought him down, laughing, shrieking like a Fury, like something carved on the wall of some temple, the high reek of her perfume and blood and her darkened eyes and she tried to push toward the dais, screaming incoherently, grinning. She looked like some goddess of judgment, some terrible avenging harpy, and Travers crawled under a table and then played dead to avoid her wrath.

Her husband, dueling Mcnair and Jugson both, and his brother beside him, his brother's killing Wilkes with a single hard slice to the chest, Wilkes falling, blood pouring from his mouth and the Lestranges moving in perfect tandem, faces blank as masks, and killing anyone who got in their way, still blank, clearing the path to the door like machines, like the machines muggles used to clear fields. Travers curled up more deeply under the table and felt something hot and wet drip down his thighs, and knew he'd pissed himself.

Both Malfoys, mother and son, dueling the Carrows and Amycus backing off, Amycus screaming as blood poured from between the fingers clapped over his face, blood bubbling from between them and a wolf trying to grab the woman and she took his hand off at the wrist without hesitating, and then grabbed the boy to shove him toward the door.

Snape, like a bat in their midst, running, and Travers was not sure what side he was on, what side any of them were on, because the Goyles were hexing their own wolves and as he watched, the boy broke away, put the Bulgarian over his shoulder and lifted the woman, took to his heels, Rita behind him. His last glimpse of her was her hair, very bright in the gloom, and then the snake, slithering like an arrow and striking those who tried to touch the boy and the people he carried.

Snape and Eugenia Lestrange, side by side and fighting, a wolf's head exploding as one of them finished him and Alf Crabbe shoving the body aside and grabbing the woman but taking her the wrong way, toward the door, Snape behind, and half the wolves forming up to provide a rear-guard and now Travers got it, and saw that they had been played for fools by a handful of teenagers and werewolves. He curled into a ball and hid.

The Dark Lord was screaming and cursing still, the Dark Lord trying to get into the fight and being pulled back by the roaring Greyback, who leapt into the fray and starting literally tearing a hole to get to the closest fighters, knocking his own men aside, Bellatrix screaming back at him, laughing still, laughing from her place next to her sister and then Bellatrix swished and Greyback grunted and went down, stunned or dead.

Rodolphus turned back and grabbed his wife, took her arm and half-carried her as they made their way out and through the front door, pandemonium and no one knowing whom to stop. Travers heard the big door clang open and then shouting from everywhere, and realized they'd known and struck back, and striking back, had won.

Briefly, he thought about pursing some or all of them and gave over, sat slowly as though hurt worse than he was, and carefully stood up, made his way to Amycus and sealed up the wound, also not as bad as it had looked at first.

On the dais, the bridal pair was being hustled out to who knew where. Travers didn't care. He wondered what would happen now. Some of their people were gone. Both Goyles, Rita, half the wolves, Alf Crabbe, Snape. Travers shivered, thinking of the power it must have taken, the sheer ability of making things happen, for this to have worked. For the first time, Travers began to worry about his own skin.

The Dark Lord sat down. 'Where is Severus? Get Severus!'

'My lord, Snape has defected.'

'WHAT?'

That went over as well as one would expect, and Travers managed to escape the worst of it until, after things were calming down, the letter came. An elf presented it to him seemingly at random and vanished just as quickly, an odd, lumpy sack on its withered back.

'What is that, Metellus?'

'A letter, my lord. From Cunegarde Lestrange.'

The Dark Lord looked interested. 'Perhaps they have fled there, and she is doing her patriotic duty by Us and turning them in?'

Travers remembered vividly his time with the ancient dragon, and shook his head. 'I would be very surprised, my lord. She's an awful old harridan.'

'Don't be silly, Metellus. Open it and read it aloud to Us, We wish to hear what this good woman has to say.'

Hands shaking with a bit of premonitory dread, Travers did it. The old woman had that spidery old-fashioned handwriting that was so hard to interpret.

'_To the so-called Dark Lord,_

_If you are reading this, I am not doubt dead. Past my time, one expects, and what a relief it is to be free of the stultifying mess you've made of Britain! I remember, young man, when this country really was great, in no small part because grasping social-climbers like you had nothing to do with running anything more important than the owlery from which offices like Weights and Measures and Magical Surveying sent out dispatches no one cared enough to read._

_Many a good man has wasted the bulk of his life in such labours. You are no good man, and one might lament heartily the loss of so much useful time to your betters when you had altogether too much to use for your mischief._

_I expect, before things have reached the inevitable finish (by which—lest you get some grandiose idea—I fully mean my great-great-niece and her husband's triumphant entry into London. If the girl has half the sense I believe her to, then she will mount your head on a spike for the Albanian boy to carry before her in order to prevent any further such grubby little parvenus as yourself from trying this nonsense.), you might have considerable cause for lamentation yourself. At least, that is my dearest hope._

_A word about the girl, speaking of whom: She, and that husband of hers (to whom you sold her when she was but a child—another tick against you) will do what you lack the intelligence and acumen to. They tell me she is Tsarina now, and has united Europe beneath her aegis._

_I tell you this not because she is succeeding where you have so notably f_ailed, _though of course she is. Nor because her magic is, I am assured, phenomenal, though it is as well. One expects no less from a Lestrange._

_Rather, I tell you because she is loved, by her people and most especially by her family, and then most especially by myself. That is a rare distinction, and one a person like yourself could never hope to attain._

_Throw yourself on her mercy, Halfblood. It is possible, if unlikely, that she has retained that willfully stubborn streak of mercy which I strove for so many years to eradicate in her. She will have you led through Sofia in chains, but even still it is more than you deserve._

_Failing that, I suggest packing a jumper. One presumes you will need it._

_Signed,_

_Cunegarde Cornelia Lestrange Wilkes Mulciber Lestrange Feathering_'

The room was utterly, utterly silent by the time he was done. The Carrows were huddled like sheep together, nervously looking about, and Jugson was squirming, though possibly it was because he had two broken arms and a cracked skull, courtesy of Eugenia Lestrange.

The Dark Lord sat down. 'Well' he said, much too calmly 'well. How…send some wolves, We want that old woman's head within the hour.'

Wolves were indeed sent, but returned in much less than an hour, and without the head. 'My lord, they…they're…'

'Well, what is it? Idiot, what have you done?'

'N-nothing, my lord! The old woman is dead, like she'd said she'd be. Poisoned, the lot of them! Elves wouldn't let us anywhere near them, drove us off. Blinded three of my boys, they did!'

'The Bulgarian?'

'Dead as well.'

The Dark Lord dropped his head a bit. 'Where is Greyback?'

'Here I am, milord.'

The Dark Lord waved a hand. 'Go to Wales and see if any of those men he left can help track those, those vile traitors. And where is the Bulgarian boy? We'll send them his head instead.'

'Gone, my lord, along with the Feathering woman.'

'Nagini, then. She'll find them for Us quickly enough.'

'Gone as well.'

The Dark Lord's eyes widened. 'We are betrayed by everyone!'

'Not us, my lord.' Walden Mcnair had been badly bruised in the fighting but retained enough sense to be unctuous and ingratiating. Travers nodded and stood beside Walden, and a shade behind in case the Dark Lord started firing Crucios at people willy-nilly. He hadn't done that since he'd got this body but his body would be old enough soon…

Greyback was gone fewer than ten minutes. He came in and threw a pitcher against a wall, howling with rage. 'THAT CUNT PAVEL! DAMN HIM TO HELL, I'LL MAKE HIM EAT HIS OWN COCK FOR THIS!'

'Greyback?'

'They're gone! Bloody stole the lot!'

'Gone? We don't understand, Fenrir. Explain.'

Avery, who'd gone, spoke up. 'My lord, it would seem…well, the camp is empty.'

'Empty?'

'We ought to have some fifty to a hundred wolves and we found…nothing.'

'LIAR! WE FOUND FUCKING ENOUGH!'

'Jonas?'

'Your lordship gave orders for the…useless mouths…to be handled. It would seem forces outside our jurisdiction…executed a raid. They seem to have rather made off with…some nine hundred-odd cubs. And we've found some heads staked about the camp.'

'It was unquestionably Pavel?'

'He, ah, left something of himself.'

'FUCKER PISSED ON MY BED! ON MY BED!'

The Dark Lord's mouth opened to say more and then an elf brought another note. Travers somehow got this one as well. He opened it, palms wet.

'It's from the Bulgarians.'

'And what do the Bulgarians want to tell Us, Metellus?' His voice was much too soft and reasonable. Travers cringed internally but pressed onward.

'It would seem they have, er, received some…refugees, their word, my lord…from Britain. Nine hundred and ninety three children and a party of Death Eaters.'

'We see. Is there anything else?'

Travers was squirming openly. 'It would seem, the err, other letter was…she's calling herself tsarina. The girl. It's from her.'

'Ah. I WANT THEIR HEADS FOR THIS! ALL OF THEM! GREYBACK, MCNAIR, GET TO WORK!'

'Yes, my lord.'

The wolf said nothing, transported by his rage. He was muttering about his bed, still, and darting looks about as if he thought one of them had done it. The Dark Lord seemed prepared to scream a bit more but then he stopped, an odd look on his face. 'Walden? Do you hear that?'

'Hear what, my lord?'

'Whispering. Surely, Metellus, you hear it?'

'A—a bit, my lord. What sort of whispers?'

The Dark Lord shook his head. 'From the walls. Most curious.'

It was a bad night to be Travers, and only getting worse, because when Travers got home, he had his own letter.

_'Dear Metellus,_

_I am having an affaire with Nicolae Pavel. He is a better man than you in every way. You are the single worst human being I have ever heard of. Every time we lay together I had to use most of a bar of soap to get your stench off of me. I only pray I can make up for being blind to your true monstrous nature—I had thought you_ merely_ a harmless buffoon—by my actions._

_PS—This is also my resignation from the Prophet.'_

He sat heavily, as the Dark Lord had, and stared incredulously at the paper, and the ruins of his life. His master was going mad, someone would have to be blamed for this fiasco with the Lestranges and Malfoys, and his mistress had left him for a filthy half-breed. Could his life get any worse?

It could. He went out that night to solace himself with a whore, and the girl gave him a raging case of the clap.

Rodolphus Lestrange hit ground in Bulgaria and thought incredulously, that they were free. His next thought was to look for his daughter, but before it could become an action he was mobbed by dozens of children, who clustered about him, sniffing him and shouting.

'Uncle?'

'Anu!'

Anu ran toward him, laughing, and the children parted for him, and then closed ranks again, making strange joyful sounds as Anu flung his arms about his uncle. Rodolphus hugged back, slightly mystified but always glad to give a hug when needed.

'The others?'

'Uncle Rab and Snape are here, and Aunt Gennie. No word on the others yet.'

Rodolphus nodded, stomach filling with rocks. What if Narcissa and the wolf hadn't made it? What if Bellatrix hadn't? Her most of all.

A small boy came over and lifted his arms and Rodolphus, baffled, lifted him up so the boy could cling to his neck.

'Anu, what is this?'

'These are the children from Greyback's camp.'

A small group of older children ran in. 'She wants to see him, boy-human!'

Rodolphus had no time to react before a dozen hands reached for his and led him, a strange honour guard, to the courtyard his daughter was waiting in. Hermione was sitting on a bench, at least five children on her person, until she saw him and stood, laughing.

The two groups of children led them together. 'We brought him!'

'My father. Everyone, this is my father, Uncle Rodolphus. What do we say?'

'Hello!' chorused the children, and then Hermione was in his arms, crying a little, and so was he. Rodolphus held her, fiercely glad, too full of joy and relief to do anything else until another shout went up.

'Girl-human, another one!'

It was Bellatrix. She was cut shallowly in a dozen places, and her hair had been severed on one side, giving her an odd lopsided look. But she was grinning, and the little ocean of children parted for her as well, and the Lestranges held one another in the starry Sofia night.

Theirs was not the only reunion that night. Rice had offered to stay on in Britain with the wolves if Snape sent his daughter Eudora, and the sleepy little girl was given over to Scabior, her godfather, before midnight. Rice's wife had been offered a chance to go and refused; she'd fight.

Snape had come with them after all, but not, he told them, for long. 'I must needs coordinate certain ventures.' The children spent some time with him, and then the fellow left, Sirius in tow. The Tamms (or rather, Tamm and newly minted Madam Black) liked that not a bit from what Rodolphus could tell, but neither said anything.

Lucius, three stone thinner but very like himself all the same, embraced his sobbing wife and their son. The real Draco, of course, had never left Bulgaria; the false Draco was actually a wolf called Mihai something, and was being welcomed back with cheers and what Rodolphus suspected was rather a lot of liquor. Only the young, he thought fondly, shaking his head.

Most of the ministers were still there, and had a troubling habit of greeting him with bows and titles. The Britons were there as well, but Rodolphus suspected they were being kept far apart for obvious reasons.

News of Slughorn's disgrace and his near attack on Anu spread quickly amongst them. All of them surely entertained thoughts of paying the man, safely pinned in a cell, a private call. Rodolphus found himself chatting with Scabior about the matter as Scabior jiggled Dora Rice in his arms.

'I almos star'ted carvin im meself, that night. But Galca were there, and he dint let me. Sed as we shud waits fer mil—the tsar an tsarina t make the call. E wanted to urts im too, I think.'

'But you didn't?'

Scabior grinned impishly, like a happy child. 'Well now, Boss, I aint sed that.'

Rodolphus knew there was a reason he'd always liked Lemuel.

And then there were the children. All of them, even Bellatrix, immediately acquired a tail of children. Rodolphus minded not a bit. He liked little ones, always had, and he was content to be climbed on and hugged and talked to. Some of the older ones, feral according to the others, were edging closer, sniffing cautiously. Most of these seemed to prefer Bellatrix, and she said nothing about it, which meant she didn't mind much.

At dinner, long past midnight, things came to a kind of end. The elves had roasted most of a sheep, a goat and many lambs, and the group was in a Silence bubble, children clustered watchfully nearby, munching meat or bones or even the odd piece of veg.

'They're wonderful, but I don't think I've had a really private shower since they arrived.' Hermione was chipper about it, though, and Viktor bent to murmur something. Sometimes their hands touched a little and it made Rodolphus glad.

The elf was ancient, bent and familiar. Seeing it, Rodolphus knew something was wrong. He gently elbowed his wife, who stopped talking as the elf, weeping, set a small sack on the table, and then gave out letters.

Hermione opened her first, but it was Viktor they all noticed. He slit the seal and then froze as something rolled out and rang a little before it settled on the table. A ring, noticed Rodolphus, with a terrible presentiment, a gold ring. The letter was in Bulgarian. It was smeared, as if whoever wrote it had been weeping…

'All the people at Feathering are dead.'

Viktor dropped his head into his hands and sighed horribly, as if it was the only sound he could make. Rumen Krum stared straight ahead. 'My God. Should we summon the priest?'

Viktor raised his head. 'My father has given his life for our country, and the others as well. Have the Patriarch come, we'll need a mass said at the cathedral.'

Someone broke the bubble. Rodolphus braced himself, dreading the onslaught at a moment like this but nothing happened. One of the children finally stood and inhaled. He howled, a spiraling sound of despair and agony, and the others took it up, and then the grown wolves, and bells, in the city, began to toll.

It was eerie, and beautiful, and it marked forever the end of England for them. Rodolphus felt his eyes burning and raised his sleeve, accompanied in his grief by the ancient sounds of wolf-song.


	77. Chapter 77

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**I was delighted to see Travers had been added  
**

Lemuel Scabior was, he felt, exactly where he should be, proof that his devotions were of use. He'd been making extra offerings lately and this, he felt, was the reward. It was, admittedly, not what he might have expected, but if there was anyone who understood these matters, it was him.

Which is to say, that the skills he had learnt as a gutter rat were now not only occasionally useful but downright in demand, which is why he was currently teaching the nobs how to use a blunted butterknife to scrape nits from a child's hair.

In the past few days, he had also taught them to use drippings on bread, rather than butter (anything with milk made the older children very sick because they were not used to it-they'd found that out the hard way), how to tell if water was safe to drink by sight and smell (so they could reassure the children it was all right to drink water now), and how to fit the maximum number of little bodies into the minimum amount of space without resorting to toddler-stacking of some kind.

His other skills, too, were useful. Climbing, tackling, tussling, the many foods the nobs turned their noses up at that Scabior still secretly considered quite tasty and absolutely edible, treating diseases born of insufficient hygiene and malnutrition, and how to break up fights without getting anything broken or knocked out.

Scabior leant over and lightly adjusted Paavo's hold on the knife. 'No, not so ard. Just sort a gen'ly scrape.' Paavo did it, grumbling, and the little boy tipped his head to beam at him delightedly.

'Hold still, Paavo!'

'Paavo!' The child beamed harder and sucked his finger, watching. Scabior bit his cheek. Whether he knew it or not, Paavo the larger had been adopted, starting when the little one had announced that he, too, was Paavo. As much as Big Paavo, as he was called now, had protested, the boy had been unmovable about sharing the name, and so now there were two.

Next to him, Flower was cautiously scraping a little girl. 'Like this, Scabior?'

'Jus so. Ow's doins, Majesty?'

She shook her head tiredly. 'War is going to seem like a relief.'

Scabior tended to agree. 'Feelin gud bout…things?'

'It's hard for us. Knowing what happened there. And my father-in-law.'

'I was rite sorry t ear bout that.'

'Thank you. Viktor is taking it hard. Now it can never be like it was. It's hard to lose that.'

Krum sat a bit away, scraping a squirming little boy. As far as Scabior could tell, he was dealing with things by keeping busy.

'Wudn't no ow, Flower. You knows that.' Scabior was perhaps one of ten men in the world who would have casually rebuked the tsarina, and both of them knew it. Flower dipped her head.

'I do. He does. It's still hard.'

'Yeah.'

'The wolves are going back tonight. Did you want to go? You could hook up with Snape and Sirius, or else help with the direct actions?'

'Lemme talks to Alise. Doan want er t feel like I jus lef er with all the kids.' In some ways, the children were a boon, in that Eudora was not all that intimidating, at least to him; there were simply so many that one more seemed not terrifying at all.

'Of course.'

Scabior waved down Pavel, who was walking with a small herd of older children. The little ones were content to play and cuddle whomever would cuddle them, but the older ones, distrustful of humans, preferred to help with patrols, assist with cooking and other tasks that kept them away from them.

'Nicolae, mebbe I cud join you?'

'Please do.'

The kids parted, watching him like owls. 'Takin a walk this evenin?'

'Mmm hmm.'

'You minds if I tag along? Flower was jus sayin I cud go and elp Snape, if you doan needs me elp with the other thin.'

Pavel nodded. 'That's fine with me. What are you going to do?'

'I needs to ask Alise firs, but then I s'pose I'll see what Snape's up t.'

'Why? Why do you need to ask?' One of the older kids stepped closer. Scabior knew better than to turn and look.

'She's me wife. I respecs er.'

'Alpha Greyback says a male doesn't ask things of a female. He says no real male takes orders from the hole he puts it in.'

Pavel growled sharply. 'Bojan!'

'What?'

Scabior clapped the kid's shoulder, mindful of moving slowly and striving to look unthreatening (not hard, he reflected, at his size). 'Lissen, mate, you been ere what, three, four days?'

The kid frowned, reckoning. 'Three sleeps.'

'Awrite. You likes it?'

'S'all right.'

'Meat every night an a clean bed an gud water and no bugs?'

'I guess so.'

'Aint like Wales, yeah?'

The kid shook his head. 'No.'

'Know why?'

'No.'

'Because that girl there is the alpha.' He gestured at Flower, who was still carefully scraping. Bojan tilted his head back. 'Pavel is the alpha.'

'Pavel is the wolf alpha, sure enuff, but the umans as a different one, aint they?'

'She's too young. Alphas are old and they're covered in scars. How could a soft little thing like that girl-human have killed the old alpha?'

'She didn't need to' said Pavel quietly. 'She used magic.'

'What about her man? Isn't he alpha?'

'He is alpha as well. Humans have more than one, sometimes.'

'Why should it be her, though?'

'She has bound dragons to herself.'

'No, she didn't.'

Scabior answered. 'I smells like I'm lyin, lad? Pavel sed it and e aint never lie and nor do I.'

Bojan stared at them a moment and then turned on his heel and walked directly toward Flower, who was still scraping a child's hair. Flower seemed to sense him coming, or else someone tipped her, because she calmly handed the toddler to someone and stood.

Pavel was right on the kid's heels, a few other wolves coming to join him. Bojan was watching Flower, looking her right in the eyes. She gave it back. He stopped close to her, too close. The older children were swooping into to get the little ones, and the wolves were coming to form a perimeter to break this up, whatever it was.

'Are you alpha here, girl-human?'

'One of them.'

'There are no girl alphas.'

'According to whom?'

Bojan blinked. 'What?'

'Who says that?'

'…everyone.'

'But who, specifically?'

'I don't know. Everyone.'

He sprang like a young animal, every bone and sinew working in precise union, his movements startlingly fluid, like a cat's. Scabior broke and run, dodging children and dogs, knowing Flower could never win a fist-fight against a wolf, no matter how young and undernourished the wolf was.

Flower's face was smooth. She flicked her wand as he sprang and the boy lifted into the air and started writhing. And…laughing? He clawed the air, giggling too hard to protest. Pavel had nearly gone over as he'd sprang a half-second after Bojan and he watched, relieved.

'Are you going to stop?'

'N-no! Fuck you!'

'Bojan!' Pavel growled harder, eyes flashing.

'Bojan' said Flower reasonably 'I can't let you down until you promise to behave, and dinner's in a few hours. Perhaps you could think about things a bit?'

'N-no!'

'Give me a week, Bojan. If you don't believe it by then, we'll talk a bit more, all right?'

'A-all right! Yield, yield!'

She let him down and Pavel pounced, grasping the boy's arm, gently but very firmly. 'Don't you dare do a thing like that again!'

'You've been too long amongst these humans. If she wants to be alpha, she has to work for it.'

Pavel's jaw clenched. 'Go inside.'

'Fine.' The kid spun on his heel again and went into the Ministry, a tail of feral children behind him. Pavel came back over as Ciprian and Mihai followed Bojan to make sure he didn't make any mischief.

Scabior was curious to hear Pavel's thoughts on this, but he saw his wife, and stepped away to ask how she felt. He left Pavel shaking his head and rubbing his temples, obviously concerned about leaving.

Hermione was too tired to be thoughtful. After her short, strange conversation with the boy she sat down, head spinning. The long nap yesterday had helped but there was simply so much to do, and she was still sick, and now Father Krum was dead.

She yawned, head down, and beside her one of the children sniffed her worriedly. 'Fall down now?'

'No, Piotr, no more falling down.'

He grumbled skeptically but went back to grooming his friend, gently running his nails along the other boy's scalp to check for lice. Mostly the treatments were chemical, but Pavel said it was a bonding thing as well, and a very good sign the humans were being included in it.

Hermione left the children and carefully picked her way through the press of bodies to her husband's side. Viktor was surrounded by children. Since they'd got the bad news he'd had a constant ring of little ones, clustered quietly about him, content to simply sit with him. Sometimes one of them would whimper softly, and push their heads against him. He would stroke their hair and they'd sit back up.

'Hello, Hermione.'

'We should practice English. Are you game?'

His mouth turned up for a moment. Indicating they wanted to do literally anything was almost always enough to guarantee a crowd of helpers, but possibly the threat of actual lessons might dissuade some of them.

A few wolves thankfully overheard and distracted the little ones so they could make their escape. Viktor walked beside her in the black draped corridors, saying nothing. She slid her hand into his and led them to their bedroom.

'Viktor?'

He laid down on their bed. 'Hermione?'

'Tell me about it?'

'He was lost to us long ago.'

'I know.'

'It was a noble thing he did.'

'Yes.'

'I hate him so much my teeth ache.'

'All right.'

She leant toward him and rested her head on his chest. Viktor reached up and encircled her in his arms. He was firm and warm. Too warm. Still sick, like she was. Hermione touched his brow and then smoothed his hair, still cut short like a schoolboy's.

'After everything else, he has the nerve to ask me to…to approve of this, when he could have come home? Snape would have arranged it, no one thinks otherwise.'

'Yes.'

'At least the old people…I don't…it's easier to take. Not that I don't miss them, I mean. But they really did…it was honourable, to make sure they couldn't be forced to...it was honourable.'

Hermione made a low encouraging sound and said nothing. He stretched out and inhaled deeply. 'If he loved me so much, why didn't he…?'

'He was sick, Viktor.'

'Not too sick to make sure he didn't have to do any of the heavy lifting.'

Hermione couldn't exactly deny that, so she stayed quiet. Viktor's voice was cool and flat, like when he confronted a noble that was trying to defy him.

'All he's done is left us another mess to clean up. And then he… he signed it…' Viktor inhaled deeply, and Hermione rolled over, knowing he was trying not to cry. He pursed his lips and kept talking.

'He shouldn't have brought up the past. We made our choice and he made his.'

'What did he say?'

Viktor's voice dropped even more. 'He called me little bear.' And then he rolled onto his stomach and held his pillow, curling into it.

'How can I hate him and miss him so much at the same time?'

Hermione nestled into the curve of his spine. 'I don't know, sweet.'

'He wasn't like this before. It broke him, when Mama died.'

'I know.'

'Damn him!' Viktor's hand lashed out and a glass crashed down to the floor. That seemed to bring him back to himself, because he sat up and pulled her against him. 'Shhh, all right.'

'Viktor?'

'It didn't scare you?'

'No. Did it you?'

Viktor's cheek was against the top of her head. 'Yes. I try to keep it under control.'

'And you do. It's all right to be angry.'

'It's not kingly.'

'Why not?'

'I'm not sure. Some monk said it.'

For whatever reason, that struck them both funny, and they laughed a little. Hermione rose carefully on her knees so they were at eye level. 'I'm sorry, Viktor, that this happened.'

'I am too. Did Uncle Penko ever tell you why they used to call me that?'

'No, he never did.'

'When I was…three, or maybe four, I…' He abruptly trailed off, eyes widening.

'My father' he said conversationally 'is dead.' He bit his lip, and then lay back down. Hermione rested against him and held him when the tears finally came. She wondered whether this would be his Elsewhere; his father had vanished into it like her muggles, always present in her mind like they'd just gone away for a while. Five years, she thought numbly, a third of my life, and then felt terrible, because she ought to be thinking about poor Father Krum and not her own problems.

It was hard to do that. She hadn't know Father Krum well at all, for one, and it seemed to her that grief is a shovel, and digs up all our old grief, tearing the fragile grass off the wounded ground of memory, and that her own feelings were salted, a tiny bit, with resentment. At least Viktor knew what had happened. At least his father was dead.

She shook her head sternly and held her husband. Scabior had been right, and Snape. Let the dead be dead, and leave them behind. Viktor needed her right now, and then the children, and the war. She would never be her own again, but against the silent charges of memory that seemed a very small price to pay.

Viktor fell asleep when he was done. Hermione couldn't. She stood up and went to the window. The courtyard was full of happy little ones, ninety-six babies brought from the basement by Aunt Sose, along with Osma Pasha and her vast collection of daughters, nieces, cousins and friends. Elves darted everywhere, beaming, and the sound of play and merriment drifted up.

Hermione stepped away from the window. She wanted to work magic suddenly, something hard and dangerous. It would distract her. It would help. She couldn't leave Viktor, though, if nothing else because he'd wake up with eight or nine little ones curled against him, and a dozen more on the floor.

It had been a long time since she'd seen Grindelwald, too. He would have some tidbit to distract her with, surely. He was so clever, and so free with what he knew. A little like Snape, actually, though not so snarly. She didn't mind snarly, but sometimes a person…

She felt the edge of a precipice yawning under her feet. Without being able to say why, it seemed that being alone would be a very bad choice, and going to see Grindelwald an even worse one. Instead, she crawled back into the bed and hugged Viktor. Her right hand, never still, was trembling violently. Hermione closed her eyes and breathed and held her husband, her anchor to the world.

Snape's was currently the rain which was pouring from the sky, soaking the walls of the crude burrow he was sharing with Black and now Scabior and turning them to mud. Both other men were silent, crouched, listening for the explosion.

It came at two thirty one AM, shaking the walls of the bunker so hard that small rocks flew off the walls and gobbets of thick black mud did likewise. At least one hit Black on the back of the neck, which was some small amusement for Snape.

Snape checked his watch again. Where the hell were the wolves? As if responding to his mental call they started to drift in, seventy-five of Pavel's best saboteurs, led by Arco and Sandru Istok, projecting a quiet pleasure in what they had wrought, having accomplished it so neatly and cleanly.

They also had three bound prisoners with them. Wolves pulled their hoods back and Snape saw they were two old men, and the third a boy of perhaps sixteen. The boy realized who had him and began to cry shrilly.

Black stepped up. 'No, shhh. No one wants to hurt you. Just tell us some things, all right?'

Wolves were Transfiguring chairs and a table for the prisoners, and Arco poured out cups of coffee and even added milk to it for the men. 'Cold out tonight, with that rain.'

One of the old-timers nodded. 'Coldest fall since 1703, did you know that?'

'I had heard things. Are any of you hurt?'

None of them were. The old-timers were both former farmers in the area, cast out years earlier when the Dark Lord had given the farms to Greyback to run. Their children had gone south with no further news forthcoming, and one thought his son had possibly been conscripted. The boy was a crofter's son who had been sent here by Hogwarts. It was only his second night on the job.

'I played slow, see' he said with a crafty gleam in his eye, tears forgot about, 'and so Amycus had me sent away.'

'Well done, lad. How is it at school?'

The boy shook his head. 'Terrible. Kids everywhere. Had to leave my cousins. The teachers are getting downright mad about half the time.'

'Mad how?'

'Alecto nearly killed some little Firstie on Monday. Beat her so hard the poor mite slept for a day and a night.'

The wolves were stirring, paying close attention, grumbling dangerously. Snape suspected that having seen what Greyback did to the children in Wales, anyone caught abusing a little one would be advised to write a will.

'What else?'

'We're running out of food. Everyone is.'

'How badly?'

'Dulce and flour soup three times a day. The little ones are crying. Here we ate the fish entrails and things.'

'Hogwarts has a whole storehouse. What of that?'

'Saving it' said the boy at once. 'Heard Amycus and the one with the dye-stuff in his hair discussing things. They're saving it for the siege.'

'Of course they are.' Snape could believe it. It was his turn to clench his jaw. Having been hungry so much himself, it was enraging him the Dark Lord was hoarding the food he ought to have been feeding the children he'd stolen.

Snape's jaw clenched further and he resolved to personally discuss matters with Travers when he saw the man. Ideally with some interesting spells Snape had invented when he was younger…

One of the wolves dug out the sandwiches the girl had packed for them, and all three prisoners fell on them ravenously. It was sickening to watch, knowing the glistening hams and cheeses, the piles of fruit and sides of beef Hogwarts had under the floors of the Hall. A wolf handed over a chocolate bar to the boy, and another some tobacco to the old men.

'What of Greyback and his men?'

'We saw them' put in the third old-timer. 'He pulled them all out. The workers.'

'How many workers?'

'Two hundred.'

'Adults?'

'Youths. The big ones are all off getting ready for the fight.'

'What condition are they in?'

'Bad' said the boy. 'Thin and sick, a lot of them. And some of the girls were…'

'Were what, son? It's all right, there are no ladies about.' Black smiled encouragingly at him and the boy loosened.

'In the family way.'

'What?' The wolves had stopped moving. Arco came a little closer and dropped his voice. 'How old were they?'

'Young.'

'Younger than you?'

The boy nodded, clearly worried. 'I tried to give one some food once but one of the big ones took it and beat her, so I didn't do it again.'

Arco clapped the boy's shoulder. 'You tried to help.'

'Can we go now?'

'We're going to have to Confound you first.'

All three nodded. Pavel held up a hand. 'Perhaps these gentlemen might like to help us?'

All three prisoners went very still. 'Help you how?'

'If the answer is no, then we'll Confound you and set you loose someplace nearby. But we've got other factories on our list, and you have clearances to get into them. The tsar and tsarina would reward you handsomely.'

The boy grinned broadly. 'For true?'

'For true'

'Could I send word to my Mam first so she'll know I'm alive?'

'You do that, lad.'

Snape pulled Pavel and Scabior aside. 'This is where we split, gentlemen. Pavel, you're set with your list of targets?'

'I am.'

'Scabior, I've a special assignment for you, if you'd like.'

'What's that, sir?'

'You could lose yourself in a city, if need be, couldn't you?'

'A ci'ty?'

'Llewellyn Rice is the new head of the soup kitchens initiative. He'd like your help getting things set up, and I believe your…unique skills…would permit you to evade detection for some time.'

Scabior's face lit up like a happy child's. 'Goin ome, am I?'

'Something like that.'

'Gud. I wants to be there wen them nobs see what's appenin.'

'No settling of old scores, Scabior.'

'Business only, on me father's name.' He was still grinning and Snape had the idea Scabior had his fingers crossed behind his back or something like that. He shook his head and let it go, wondering vaguely whether this was the best idea after all.

They went with it. Snape and Black were sleeping in another bunker some distance away and there they went, and curled up in their sleeping bags. Black was quiet and thoughtful, which was a relief, because Snape could not have borne the usual idiot prattling.

Until it came to seem too quiet and he rolled over and said 'Black?'

'Snape?'

'I wanted to make sure you'd not died on me. That would be an inconvenience.'

'Thank you, Snape. I so treasure your displays of concern on my behalf.'

'As much of my food has disappeared down your gullet in the last few years that I expect a return on my investment.'

'How charming.'

'Charm is the weapon of the rogue and the scoundrel.'

'So what do you call not washing your hair? Rogue repellant?'

'I hate you.'

'I know.'

Black was quiet again for a while. Then he said 'We're going to get Reg soon, aren't we?'

'Yes. Having second thoughts?'

'No. You?'

'I always pay my debts.'

'I'm aware. Now if only we could get you bathing from time to time.'

Snape rolled over, ignoring the obnoxious twat. He actually managed a few hours, and woke when Mippy came to him, crying, and told him the bad news about Master Rat.


	78. Chapter 78

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**I owe signofthetimes a big one this time, y'all. More than usual, and that's saying a lot.  
**

** Specifically, I was on the phone with her last week when an individual (I refuse to say man) decided to make sure I knew what he thinks of 'people like me'. (He's not a fan, apparently.) I was wearing something that expresses my spiritual beliefs and he took umbrage enough that only threatening a stranger would make him feel better. The ethnic slur he threw as I left was just to be really, really sure I get that he doesn't approve.  
**

** signofthetimes gave me help and support when I needed it most. I can't thank her enough.  
**

**PS-I'm still wearing it. Because the hell with that guy, and the hell with bullying, bigoted jerks who think that kind of thing is okay.  
**

Barty Crouch Jr was perhaps as happy as he'd ever been. He rose, stretching, and picked up the closest little one. It was not Edric, but a little boy named Faisal. Faisal crowed and clapped, and Barty, setting the baby on his hip, walked into Castle Borev, the warm sun lingering on his skin.

He was here and almost everybody was in Sofia but that was all right. Rab and Gennie and Edric came back every night, and Barty had plenty of company during the day. Some of the ministers helped him, and Ivan and Winky. Best of all, he was helping. It was his job to figure out which little ones might need extra help later because they couldn't balance or didn't talk or things like that. He had his little pad of paper and pencil to write down names and everything.

All of these children were about Edric's age. They'd come infested with worms and sick and dirty, but now they were clean and happy. Barty kept them with him, in an inner courtyard. Draco had explained it to him during a visit a few days earlier.

'The exiles…well, they're apt to be in and out. We can't keep them in Sofia because of my parents and the uncles, and we can't send them away, so…'

'They can't see me because of the Bad Thing.'

'Yes. I'm sorry, Barty.'

Barty had touched his shoulder lightly. 'Don't be sorry, Draco.'

So here they were. Barty wished Edric was with him but he'd be back for dinner, and they got to eat in the nursery with Winky. Life seemed very sweet to him at the moment. Elves gathered a few more babies and the group withdrew to the inner courtyard.

Barty loved the inner courtyard. There was a small fountain (gift of Osma Pasha), a small garden of flowers that were from Turkey, and even a small palm tree, also from Egypt. He settled on the fountain's rim, watching the babies as they played, rolling little balls or toting dolls about.

'Excuse me?'

Barty stood up. 'Hello.'

'Is this the way to the library? I understand that Kynaz Ivan has a collection of plant manuscripts.'

'No, the library is up the stairs you passed and then three doors to the left. Are you British?'

'I am, from near Preston in Lancashire. Yourself?'

'From London, Violet Row.' Barty wondered whether he should explain to the fellow that it would not do for him to be seen, as Barty was not supposed to talk to the British. On the other hand, it might be very rude and unfriendly of him to refuse to be polite.

'Shall I send my elf to show you?'

'May I look at those flowers first?'

'Please do. You aren't old, are you?'

'Fifteen.'

'That is quite young. Have you come to see the camps?'

'Minister Weasley asked me to come to train with his sons. Ion is a friend of mine, and the twins.'

'Oh. He's supposed to be very nice. Ron Weasley.'

'Yes.' The fellow looked at the flowers, seemingly pleased. With Barty's permission, he plucked a sprig of jasmine to take to a lady he loved, called Luna. Barty thought that a very pretty name. He hoped this young man would be happy with Luna, and that they wouldn't have to fight.

The young man sat down on the edge of the fountain. 'What brings you to Bulgaria, sir?'

'My family lives here.'

'You are a kinsman of her Majesty's, then?'

'Sort of. I don't have a family of my own, really, since my parents both joined the ancestors, so they invited me into theirs. I help take care of Edric. Now I'm watching babies.'

'Edric Lestrange, you mean?'

'Yes. He's very big now. He says ten words and has hair.'

The young man licked his lips. 'Then you are Barty Crouch Jr, is that right?'

'Yes. How did you know?'

'I have…heard your name before.'

'Oh. Because I did the Bad Thing.'

'Yes.'

Barty leant over and gently clapped the fellow's shoulder. 'Don't be scared. My mind is broken but I shan't hurt you.'

'No. Their minds were broken too.'

In a way, it was oddly freeing that this fellow just said what Barty knew everyone to be thinking. 'I know. I wanted to meet them. Because they were broken too, and I could tell them…'

'Tell them…?'

Barty gestured. 'If I could go back, and get broken instead of them, then I would do. It's fair, I think, how things worked out. That I'm broken too, I mean.'

The young man shook his head at once. 'Nothing about that was fair, Mr. Crouch.'

'No. But we could have done something else and we didn't.'

'Yes. If you could…they had a son, you know.'

'I remember.'

'What would you say to him?'

Barty considered. 'I would listen.'

'Listen?'

'If I were him, I would be angry, and I would be sad, and I would want to talk about it. So I'd listen.'

The young man didn't move for a minute or so. 'I think…I think…that's a good answer.'

'What about you?'

'Me?'

'What would you do?'

'If I were him…everyone always says how good and kind they were. Alice and Frank. So I think they would tell m—tell him—to do what's good and kind.'

'What's that?'

The fellow considered. 'To still feel angry and sad about what happened, but to also feel like it was all right to be—not to want to hate the person who'd done it.'

Barty listened gravely. 'That's also a good answer, I think.'

'I, ah, think I might go and lie down. The library can wait.'

Barty walked him to the arch that opened onto the corridor. He stuck out his hand. The young man swallowed hard, blinking, and then took it. They shook.

'Barty?'

'Hello, Draco.'

'I was th…hello.'

'My lord Malfoy.'

'It's not necessary here. Is everything all right?'

'I came this way by mistake and your kinsman sorted me out.'

'Ah. Should I send for anyone?'

'No. No, it was…fine.'

Barty leant closer. 'Draco, it's all right. He shook with me and everything.' He smiled, pleased by this young man's good manners and kindness. Draco had a very strange look about him, eyes wide, face flushed.

'Truly, sir, you are a credit to your family line.'

'It's what they would have wanted.' He excused himself and Draco watched him go. Then he sat down. Barty joined him.

'Draco?'

Draco shook his head.' The troops are ready, Barty. We've set the invasion for three months from tonight, 7 December.'

'Oh.' Barty hugged him, feeling his heart hammering in the younger man's chest. 'It will be done soon, Draco.'

'I know.'

'He didn't tell me his name. That fellow.'

'No.'

Barty sensed something had happened here and didn't press. Maybe he'd be happier if he didn't. Instead, he sat down and held a baby and tried not to remember how the crying from upstairs had sounded when he'd helped do the Bad Thing.

Kreacher, meanwhile, was pursuing his own ends. Having squared away his humans, he'd called for an assembly just after midnight. He eyed Winky and Norry and Gemmy and Mippy and the Feathering elves with his hardest glare, and also Mistress' terrible cat Crookshanks, who snorted and then lay down insolently, flicking his tail to indicate that time was wasting.

'Wicked cat Crookshanks.'

The cat sneezed and lay back a bit more to show how few fleas he gave about Kreacher's opinions of him specifically and events generally. Kreacher hissed a little and then decided to convince Mistress the foul creature needed a dip against parasites. That would teach the grotty thing.

'Elves need to do their bit to help Britain.'

Nods all round. Norry looked prepared to burst into tears of fright and burst into patriotic tears instead, which Kreacher supposed was a touch better, and anyway, didn't they love Britain as much as the humans?

'Help how, Kreacher?' Ancient Linky creaked like an old house as she talked.

'Kreacher was getting to it! Kreacher thinks humans are forgetting an important resource.'

'Coal?'

Kreacher regretted the injunctions against poisoning Norry.

'Elves, Norry, elves! Our Master Regulus sacrificed his life to save Kreacher's. Kreacher wants to pay back his sacrifice.'

The elves were listening carefully, even stupid Norry. 'What should elves do?'

Kreacher spread his hands. 'Don't we all know the Death Eaters? The Carrows and Mcnair and the others?'

Nods all round. Crookshanks sat up, flicked his tail at a passing fly and then raised his tufty ears to listen better.

'Many elves would not want to serve them. Suppose elves found a way to free them to come here. Or work for Master Snape.'

'Many elves would not want to. Free elves is bad elves.'

More nods. Kreacher had been prepared for this. With reverent care he withdrew the note from Master Regulus and read it out loud.

'Master Regulus gave his life for Kreacher. How many of those Death Eaters would do that for their elves?'

Winky spoke very gently. 'Kreacher, Master Reg was special. Kreacher was special to him. Elves can't expect that all the time.' Or ever, he heard her say silently.

'Master Barty tried to die for Mistress and for Rinky. Mistress tried to fix Rinky before he…' All of them quieted, thinking on it. Rinky had completed his highest calling and died for his human. Surely he had been reborn as a human now, and would, someday, be born as a wizard?

He was swaying them ever so slowly and gently. Linky spoke. 'Mistress—Old Mistress—refused to let Linky die with her. She wanted us to live and help the others.'

'See? Good humans care about elves.'

More nods, cautiously this time. 'What does Kreacher want us to do?'

'Give the other elves a choice.'

'If they say no?'

Kreacher held out a stack of parchments. 'Elves will help Kreacher copy this letter. Surely that will persuade them?'

'If it doesn't?'

'Who will they tell? Who listens to elves?'

When the parchments were done the elves joined hands over a glass of butterbeer.

'Master Regulus' army!'

The others echoed it, and then sipped from the goblet. And so the strangest saboteurs in the world took up the tools of their trade and left on their errand, a bit tipsy but determined to do what was right.

Kreacher himself, remembering the false-Ivan's affections for the Carrow elf, went there directly. The house stank of mildew, and he found the elf hunched in the kitchen, crying. His arms were bandaged again.

'Elf! To whom do you belong?'

'The tsar and tsarina of Bulgaria. You are Muggy?'

'We are. Why are you here?'

'We wanted to see if Muggy is tired of things yet.' Kreacher gestured at Muggy's bandaged arms and the elf burst into fresh tears.

'Muggy is a bad elf!'

'Muggy is a **badly-used** elf. Kreacher has another way for Muggy.'

'What other way?'

Kreacher read the letter in its entirety. Muggy squinted at him as though suspecting some tasteless and rather mean-spirited joke. 'What's this got to do with Muggy?'

'Do you want to see Master Ivan again, elf?'

'Yes!'

'Why?'

'He is…a good boy.'

'Gentle? Kind? Considerate of others' feelings?'

'Yes, he is.'

'Then come and serve him. Or serve with Kreacher, but these people don't care about Muggy. They would sacrifice Muggy to save themselves, Muggy knows that.'

'Muggy's place is here.'

'Muggy's place is serving people who love him.'

Muggy's chin quivered. 'Kreacher promises new service with Master Ivan?'

'Kreacher can make that happen, yes.'

He explained the plan, swore Muggy to the growing society of elves, and waited.

When Amycus woke, he twitched nervously as was becoming his wont and called for tea. This was where Muggy had to act, and he did, handing over a mug charmed far too warm. Amycus yelped and thrust it back, and that activated the charm, which is to say that the cup morphed into an old stocking of Mistress Alecto's. Muggy grabbed it and stood up, holding it like a flag of surrender.

'Muggy is a free elf!'

'What—I—no! Fuck! Muggy, come back here!'

Muggy darted back, bowed and was gone. Kreacher appeared, grinning, and bowed as well. 'The tsar and tsarina send their compliments.' Then, he, too, was gone, leaving a deeply befuddled Amycus alone in bed, wondering what the hell had just happened.

The scene played out all over Britain, with a score of elves and more joining them. One of the newly-freed elves had a brother currently at Otway's awaiting sale, and they freed him as well, and seventy others. Christabel's was next, and Pankhurst's. One of the elves was a seamstress and quickly made them up a rather slapdash banner from a tablecloth, a stylized R in black on a white background.

Many of the elves opted to liberate some supplies as well (just payment for the years of work they'd done for people who mistreated them, asserted Kreacher), and when they finally found Master Sirius and Master Snape, it was with over a hundred elves, baskets of supplies and food for the children at Hogwarts.

'Kreacher? What the hell have you done now?'

Master Snape had an odd, speculative look on his face, and held up one of his long, bony hands to forestall answer. 'You, elf' he pointed 'to whom do you belong?'

'Jibby is a free elf, Master Snape.'

'To whom did you belong, then?'

'Master Walden Mcnair.'

'I see. And the one beside Jibby?'

'Mistress Honoria Rowle, Master Snape.'

Master Snape turned very slowly to look at Kreacher. 'You've freed all their elves.'

'Yes, Master Snape.'

'And all the elves they could buy.'

'Yes, Master Snape.'

Master Sirius made an odd, strangled noise. 'Shite! Kreacher, you manky little wanker, this is bril!'

'Master Sirius, slang?'

'Shush.' Master Sirius reached up to gently touch his arm and Kreacher smiled at him, his last baby. Until the one Master Sirius had promised him, of course. And the dozens in Sofia, but it wasn't exactly the same.

'But what to do with them?'

Kreacher grinned down. 'We've thought of that as well.'

'Oh?'

'Elves are free. They can go anywhere.'

'Yes, of course.'

'What if they all choose to go to Hogwarts?'

Master Snape's eyes widened a little. 'No need to worry about Portkeys.'

'No, Master Snape.'

'Are any of you midwives?'

Three she-elves raised their hands. Master Snape nodded, relief smoothing his brow a bit. 'Madam Hetty Feathering is expecting. I would ask you three to attend her when her time comes.'

The elves' ears had perked up at the mention of a baby. 'Babies, Master Snape?'

'A baby eventually. Right now it would be a small boy and three grown—one nearly grown—people. In addition, a great number of children ranging in age from five to seventeen, probable wounded and a lack of food. It will be hard. It will be dangerous. Many of you will not survive.'

'And after, Master Snape?'

Master Sirius spoke up. 'Bulgaria will shelter you, or help you find a place in private houses, as you like.'

'Promise?'

The elves gasped, shocked by such boldness. Master Sirius nodded at once. 'I do, Kreacher.'

'Elves?'

A thin cheer rose. 'Babies!'

'Children for elves to tend!'

'Elves can find more food for the children!'

Master Snape cleared his throat. 'There are also several thousand snakes. They are allies to us.'

The elves stopped and considered. 'Snakes?'

'Yes, friendly ones.'

'But still children too?'

'Loads.'

With another cheer the elves vanished to their posts, but Master Sirius stopped Kreacher.

'We've had a problem, Kreacher.'

'What problem?'

'It's about Peter. The rat?'

'What happened?'

Master Sirius told him.

Metellus Travers was dealing with the self-same rat, and he was not happy about it. He sipped porter and tried not to twitch, Amycus-like, as the filthy rat animagus drained his glass and leant toward him slurring, exhaling a vapour like a fire in a brewery.

'Clever bloke, is Snape. Was always, always clever, eh?'

'Quite.'

'So I told em…I told em…'

Travers tuned out. One of the wolves had discovered the fellow, half-deranged, wandering about the Forbidden Forest ranting some nonsense story about turning into a rat and swimming out of Azkaban. The Dark Lord, for whatever reason, seemed to know him, and so he'd been taken in like some manky old dog, given a blanket and something to wet his repulsively dry and peeling lips with.

'…and then he said something about…about Mulc—what's his name?'

'Mulcahey, the werewolf?'

'No, no. Mul…'

'Mullins? Or Mallow, perhaps?'

'No. Mulciber! That's right, Mulciber!'

'He's just over there, Wormtail.'

'No, no Snape said…he said…'

Travers snorted. Drunk as a coot, this repulsive little nugget of a man, and rambling. 'Of course he did.'

'It's not really him, see. It's….someone. But not him.'

'Mmm, how interesting.'

Travers was saved from more nonsense by the appearance of Wetherell Mcnair, bouncingly well, eyebrows like dark black gashes under his thinning hair. He had his father's knack for speaking softly, and came toward them like one of those man-eating fish one hears about, all teeth and quiet.

'Good morning, fellows.'

'Wetherell.'

'Young Mcnair. I was just telling Travers about…about…' Pettigrew tried to make his eyes focus and then gave up the proverbial ghost, head on his arms. Young Mcnair raised one of his disturbing brows at the top of the rat-man's dandruffy head.

'Drunk as an elf on half a tankard of small beer. What's going on, Wetherell?'

'Factories.'

'Factories?'

'Three of them have caught fire in the past three days, as well as eight railway stations, fourteen Floo connexion points, and innumerable owls shot down. Additionally, the village of MacHeath's Head on the Firth of Fourth woke this morning to discover the entire fishing fleet torched, along with several smaller hamlets.'

'Is that all?' Travers sat down, head spinning with the notion. 'Wolves, is it? Their wolves?'

'The rogue wolf Pavel, yes. Milord's put a thirty thousand galleon price on his head, and twenty a piece for Arco and Istok.'

'That's…'

'A huge amount, yes, but it would seem that it isn't dissuading people from helping them. Odd, isn't it?'

'Quite' agreed Travers, increasingly unquieted by this young man and his air of…something. Wetherell leant closer and spoke confidentially.

'Milord's ordering a direct action. To make sure the little people get it.'

'Direct action?'

'Come with us. It will be fun.' His eyes shone as if in pleasure but it was a flat gleam, and made Travers stomach twist. He nodded, though. It would not do to make an enemy of this fellow, he sensed.

Travers was spared, in a manner of speaking. Young Mcnair was preparing to confide the details of the evening's entertainment when Greyback approached him, reeking and charnel-breathed.

'You're summoned, Travers.'

Travers excused himself and followed the wolf, away from the Hall and into one of the courtyards into which the children had been herded. Was this some sort of joke? Greyback ignored his looks and plunged in, grabbing a child at random.

'This one'll be about the right size, once he's dressed up.'

'Dressed up? What—Fenrir, what is this?'

The boy's siblings were squalling. One of the girls ran toward him and Travers reached out to stop her, grabbing her arm, perhaps a bit too hard. She kept fighting him, kicking and shouting, and clawing at her with his nails.

Later he would be surprised with himself, but not very. Later this would seem quite benign, after the rest of the night was done. As it was, Travers lashed out and hit the girl, hard, and then let her fall, hard.

Greyback laughed, still holding the boy. 'Well done. Now get a girl, one of the pregnant ones and bring her to the Hall.' Travers searched until he found the small number of visibly pregnant girls cowering against a wall and chose one at random, taking her arm.

The Dark Lord rose to greet them. 'Hello, friends. We are glad to see that everything is in order. Metellus, you know Horace Slughorn?'

Slughorn was crumpled in a chair. 'Hello' he said simply, and stared into space thereafter, unmoving.

'I thought, my lord—I believed—Professor Slughorn was in Bulgaria.'

'He was, Metellus, he was. Until We received a letter from that little Lestrange bitch. She seems to think she can make demands of Us.'

'My lord?'

'She's demanding We step down as ruler and all sorts of ludicrous things. Shes sent the Professor back as a sort of peace-offering. Though there was a problem with some little Albanian child, apparently.'

'I see.'

'We must answer this insult with one in kind, don't you think?'

Travers braced himself for something loud and awkward and tiresome. It wasn't the last of those, at least.

The Dark Lord nodded to Greyback. 'Strip them and get them into the clothes, Fenrir.'

Wolves came forward and did just that, roughly ripping the girl's tattered gown off and putting her in a better one. One Travers had seen before, he thought. And the boy in a little red tunic with the Krum crest…

'My lord?'

'If we can't send them the bodies, then we'll send them a facsimile.'

'I…'

'Do it, Metellus.'

Travers raised his wand and the Dark Lord shook his head. An elf, sobbing, handed him a cord. The boy tried to ward him off, buy Travers was bigger. It took a very long time for the movements to stop, and after his hands hurt. The Dark Lord applauded, and then stood up.

'Have one of the other girls sent to my rooms. A pretty one. Bathe her first, of course.'

The bodies were left on the battlements, hung on hooks. The clothing was dispatched, covered with blood and a letter in the Dark Lord's own hand, inviting the tsar and tsarina to get in touch to discuss matters.

Luan Ismaili was the one to open it. His hands were shaking a little, and he slit the twine with care, a wolf having sniffed it to make sure it wouldn't explode on opening. 'Blood' the fellow said warningly, and Luan, who'd guessed it was bad, nodded stolidly and carefully cut the Spello-tape, and then gasped a single shocked word.

'Get Krum immediately.'

The tsar was dangerously quiet when he took in the scene, and the tsarina, whose great dark eyes seemed to drink the shadows as she held the little tunic. The tsar finally spoke.

'Fifty thousand to whomever brings me the heads of the men who did this. A hundred if they're alive. Get word out.'

Travers didn't know that. He took a pain potion and went to bed after he'd showered the smell off himself. His sleep was dreamless, the sleep of the just.


	79. Chapter 79

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Sorry this is late. I owe a giant thanks to my friend J and signofthetimes for their help and support in the last week and some. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.**

Lemuel Scabior rolled over, and nudged the elbow that kept trying to drape into his space away. It belonged to a dodgy-looking bloke from Bow who sold nostrums, and apparently liked to sprawl as he slept. On Scabior's other side, an even dodgier bloke grunted and curled tighter into the valise he was cradling. He was covered in something orange-ish and oozing. Scabior could have done without that one, definitely, but all in all, it was nice to be home for a visit.

Home. He eeled out of the shared bed and slid into his boots, and then his waistcoat and jacket, with a scarf over it all in place of a cravat, and his top hat, complete with a new feather. He'd not shaved in a few days, and his hair tumbled half tied back and half not. He looked thoroughly disreputable, and he liked it.

He'd taken a bed for the night in the Rookery's worst street. Five sickles got him part of a flea-ridden straw mattress and a tankard of ale so strong his eyes had watered at the first sip. The stench came free, as did what he suspected would be an awful case of the flux for anyone stupid enough to eat anything the landlady cooked.

He checked his watch, the dented one he'd had since he'd taken it at fifteen and not his good silver one, safe in Sofia. Three ten. He had to meet Llew and the older Goyle lad, and the wives. He slid down the back stairs, knife in his hand, and felt very much alive.

He'd left one of those home as well, his small sharp one. He'd pressed it into Alise's hand just before he'd Portkeyed. 'You stab anyone needs a ole put in im, girl.'

'I will.'

She'd had Dora Rice on her hip at the time, and a few wolf-children clutching her skirts. Scabior smiled, holding the memory to himself a second. He was glad she was there and not here, where the streets stank of piss and the only whores with all their teeth were being pimped by their own mothers.

He fingered the lock of her hair she'd given him and then set to work, taking the long way through the winding, dangerous allies, head down. No one stopped him. He was a shadow, he was smoke. Llew was waiting for him at the sign of the Hag's Head, and they slipped inside and took the table under the splintery stairs.

'Ello, mate. What's me mam's name?'

'Chryse Liddle. How's Dora?' Liddle was his mother's maiden name.

'Rite. Misses you an the missus sumthin awful but she's getting bet'er. And she's got loads a playmates now, aint she?'

He nodded, clearly relieved. 'She's like her mother, she makes friends everywhere.'

'Yeah.'

'You?'

'Well enuff. Missus dint want me t go but she aint say nuthin. She gits it.'

'I'm sorry I've never met her.'

'You will. Gud strong girl, lotsa nice air.'

Llew nodded. 'You always did have a type.'

'Naw, that was Jos. Im and is red-eads, member?'

Llew snorted at the memories. 'That little what'shername he took up with?'

'With the giant—' Scabior gestured and both men laughed a little, indulging in a bit of ribaldry at absent Biksdale's expense.

'Ow is ol Jos, anyow?'

'Right here, S—mate.'

Biksdale grinned and poked his head down. He was a good-looking kid, sixteen when he went away. Scabior snorted and flicked his ear.

'Doan do that, gunna get a spli'ner in yer neck.'

'Are they ready for us upstairs?'

'They are. I was going to get some pies or something, maybe.'

Scabior gestured him upstairs. 'Lat'er, lad. We gots to talk firs.'

The room was packed. The Goyle lad was older than Scabior might have thought, and huge, as big as his father, with gigantic hands and a face that looked graven from stone. His wife was big and strapping, moon-faced, painted up like a cheap strumpet. Both of them had uncomfortably shoved themselves into cheap, garish clothes. They looked uneasy and false, like they didn't belong, because they didn't.

'Ello, all. Ow's doins?'

The woman spoke. 'A man outside attempted to buy my services, and for a very low price.'

'Tiggy!'

'I'm worth a galleon at least, Galten.'

Scabior laughed helplessly. 'Glad t see it aint bothered you nun, ma'am.'

'At least he offered a whole one for the pair.'

She gestured to Nettie Rice, also painted, who nodded placidly at the whole notion and sat down on the filthy, flea-infested bed. Llew twitched a bit and Scabior touched his arm gently.

'How is it going, Scabs?'

Biksdale's soft, low voice. Scabior considered. 'Three fact'ries, five a the wolf farms, an the ole fleet as Mac'eath's Ead.'

'All of it?'

'All two undred boats and then sum.'

'What about the little villages?' That from the Goyle woman, eyes bright with curiosity.

'They burned their fleets 'swell.'

'We'd heard about the trains and the Floo.'

'And the owls' said Goyle Jr softly. 'Can't get an owl passed Gretna Green, supposedly.'

'No, s'true.'

'So then what?'

Scabior didn't want any of them to be able to give anything away should they be captured. Snape had given out small phials of hemlock to be totally sure but one could never quite tell. On the other hand, if he was asking them to risk torture and death for him—for them, really—they deserved to be told.

'Way I sees it, Jos an me gunna go an get a sense a things in sum places it aint gunna be easy fer the rest a you t go. No offense, but you doan zactly fit in ere, Llew, nor Nettie or Madam Goyle or Galten.'

All of them nodded. 'So what can we do?'

Scabior spread out a map. 'We ave sum safe'ouses all marked out fer you. 12 Grimmauld Place, ere, Featherin, Malfoy Manor, Lestrange Ouse in Lincoln. Yer gunna make contact with them as cud elp us—likeminded folk, as it were. I gots a list ere a people our friend thinks cud help us.'

'Aren't those places the first the Ministry's going to try to raid?'

Scabior smiled a little. 'Oh, they've tried. But them wards the—e paid to ave put on can't be broken by no one, you know. Best in the world, and the elves are keepin em up. So jus you keeps yer 'eads down and wait fer more orders, awrite?'

Nods all round. 'What about my father and brother? Any word?'

'Yer da's with the wolves. E's set t see the centaurs soon, I b'lieve. No word a yer brother, but if e's in Ogwarts likely e's fine.' If he wasn't they'd have heard of it, surely.

Biksdale grinned. 'This is all rather exciting, isn't it?'

Scabior cuffed him on the head on general principle. 'Shush, you.'

Footsteps. Everyone tensed, reaching for their wands as one. The door flew open and a fellow in a flat cap came in, holding a tray laden with eel pies, ale, apple pasties and wine for the ladies. He set it down and took off the cap.

'Sandru!'

'Hello' he said softly 'I make charm now.'

'What's doins, mate?'

Sandru's normally placid face looked ten years older. _'*He knows we're here.*'_

'_*What d'you mean?*'_

Sandru sat down. _'*He sent word this morning to Sofia. For every…action…we undertake, he's going to hang ten citizens.*'_

Scabior sat down, shaking his head. _'*God damn it.*'_

'_*He's already…I need to go back tonight to tell them. He's—our friend—sending me to let them know. And there was an incident at Hogwarts.*'_

_*'In'stendt?*'_

'_*There's bodies hanging on the ramparts. We aren't quite sure…one is child sized.*'_

'_*Oh fuck me!*'_ Scabior hit his thigh, stomach lurching violently at the thought of the Weasley kid, who was so brave about things.

'_*The other, sir?*' _ Galten was tense as a fiddle-string.

'_*A woman. A woman who's…*'_

'_*Fuck me!*'_

'_*We don't think it's them. We couldn't get close enough to be totally sure, but if it was the boy would have changed back.*'_

'_*True. Sorry, ladies.*'_

Neither lady seemed to mind. _'*What do we do?*'_

'_*We fights on*'_ said Scabior grimly, and stood up. _'*Let's eat an then we needs to start tonight.*'_

He wanted Alise. Just to hold, so the horror of things would dull a little. He missed her, he thought, he missed his wife. He fingered his lock of hair and resolved to gut whoever'd done the killing. Slowly.

He made himself eat an eel pie and then faded back into the worst slum in the city, like he'd never been there at all.

Viktor was not an excessively superstitious man, he thought, but he did have a handful he clung to. He refused to sleep with his feet facing a door (too much like how the dead are carried from their rooms), he was careful not to break a mirror, and he never hummed at the table, and he always set his bread right side up, lest the Krum family fortunes decline.

The most important one, though, was a prohibition against saying, even to himself, that things could not get worse. If he caught himself tempted to think that, he'd rap the closest table three times, always feeling vaguely like he should be past this and also feeling that it was all right he wasn't. It made him feel connected to his parents, from whom he had learnt these small rituals, and that was worth having, even if it could be a bit embarrassing now and again.

At the moment he was close to breaking his own rule. He'd woken at four when one of the wolf-children had needed to use the bathroom, and crawled onto his solar plexus to tell him so. He'd risen, got the little fellow there just in time, and then put him back to bed, finally settling him between Hermione and his own body.

One of the downsides of holding a principle is that from time to time that same principle punches one square in the mouth, which is why the tsar and tsarina were still sleeping on a mattress on the floor of the dining room.

The married couples were theoretically taking turns in bedrooms but since Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius had been separated, the group had insisted they take a whole week to spend time in private. Which was the right thing to do, but in practice meant Viktor woke carpeted with children. They'd installed privacy screens, but what good are they with children who have no understanding of privacy?

He'd just got back to sleep when an elf woke him again. Sandru Istok had come from Pavel. Would the tsar receive him? The tsar would, and the tsarina, who woke up and refused to try for more sleep.

Which in turn woke a dozen children, and then most of the others, including the family. So here they all were as dawn broke, drinking coffee and contemplating what would need to be done when a wolf ran in without knocking.

'Milord—Majesty—a box from Britain.'

'What sort of box?'

'It's bad.' He was ashen, and swallowed hard before he could answer any questions. A bloody tunic, he said, and a woman's dress. Should he have them brought?

Hermione smiled at him calmingly. 'Please do, and have Luan come when he gets a moment.'

Luan looked very little better. His hands were bubble-charmed against potential chemicals on parchment (ever since the poisoning attempt they'd been extra careful) and his face was faintly grey. He sat down heavily, shaking his head, and handed over a letter.

Hermione opened it and held it so they could both read.

'_Perhaps now you appreciate the stupidity of making demands of Us. Floo connexion number 6858164628, eight o'clock British time._'

Once that disaster was sorted out, and Sandru had confirmed that the tunic was Ivan's but the blood was not Weasley Jr's (necessitating summoning a sleepy, confused, then terrified Minister Weasley), they'd finally had a moment to take a break.

'If it's not Ronald Weasley's blood, then it's not Aunt Hetty's either.'

'Agreed.'

Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled. 'Then what shall we tell him when we connect?'

'Are we going to connect?'

Drago frowned thoughtfully. 'My impulse is to say no, honestly. What will we gain from it?'

'It will anger him, being ignored.'

'It will anger him if we connect and don't react correctly.'

Uncle Rumen was actually holding Aunt Lyudmilla's hand. 'I think Drago has the right of it. We can't play into this.'

'Suppose he gets so angry he decides on reprisals?'

'That will happen anyways. At this point nothing we do is going to make an appreciable difference, I think.'

Anu cleared his throat. He was sitting beside Luan, and Bess between them calming their shaken librarian. 'What if someone besides the two of you did it?'

'Like whom, Anu?'

'Uncle Penko' said Anu immediately. 'We can say everyone else is overcome with grief or something.'

'And then what?' Uncle Lucius smiled encouragingly and Anu dipped his head a bit, blushing but continued.

'It depends on what he says and does. I think what he really wants is to hurt us. What if we let him think he did?'

'And if he makes demands of us?'

Anu put his head up. 'Then to hell with him! He tried to make us think he killed Ivan and Aunt Hetty!'

The room broke into chuckles, and Anu, deep red, apologized. 'Ignoring him will set him off, is all.'

'I agree' said Father. 'Ignoring him will make him find bigger ways to get our attention.'

'The problem' said Uncle Lucius 'is finding ways to seemingly give in without actually doing it. How to do that?'

That was the question, all right. Viktor had no answer, and having no answer, decided to take a hot shower, try for a touch more sleep and then work on it a bit more. He had to meet with ministers, too, and a whole slew of smaller countries that hadn't come to the initial meetings and wanted to join the Empire, so there was that to deal with. And finding a permanent situation for the children, meeting with the Secretary of the Exchequer about approving funding for the invasionary force, signing off on graduating this batch of troops, the logistics of getting the next group to Bulgaria…

Viktor had just climbed in the shower when he heard footsteps. He tensed, expecting imminent invasion of a small and curious sort, and relaxed when he saw it was Hermione, who shed her clothes and stepped in, taking the sponge from his hand to scrub his back with.

'What a nightmare.'

'Mmm hmm.'

'Oww! Hermione! It's not ready!'

'Is so.'

He spun and took her hand to kiss the palm, the sponge falling. 'Shush.'

She leant against him. 'I could go right to sleep.'

'You aren't faint?'

'No, thankfully.'

They both snorted. Ever since the near-fainting spell in the courtyard, the Conclave had been sending petitions every four hours, begging the tsarina to confirm her pregnancy. Hermione had finally called lady Batcheva, who'd had seven children, and demanded the doughty old woman examine her personally.

'Your Majesty is not pregnant.'

'I'm aware.'

The old woman nodded approvingly. 'Too young for it. Give it a few years. Majesty.'

Which had quashed the rumors for all of two seconds, and then started a new wave of petitions begging the tsar and tsarina to give the Empire a tsarevich to assure the succession. It was, to put it mildly, maddening.

More vexingly, the petitions to move Mama—and now Papa, once his remains were recovered—to Sofia for veneration continued. Viktor felt sick every time he contemplated it, and so he shoved the thought away and kissed his wife's neck instead.

'What's next?'

'A nap, and then I'll take the Exchequer if you'll take the ministers.'

She nodded, eyes gleaming. 'You'll join us?'

'Of course, but this thing with the money shouldn't be more than an hour anyway.'

'It's just stamping things, isn't it?'

'Basically. I'll also sign off on graduating this class of aurors and tell the wolves, oh, three o'clock to meet?'

'Please. Lunch at one?'

'Sounds good. I wish we knew what Snape and Sirius were up to.'

'So do I.'

Thins were starting to get interesting. Viktor grinned and brought his lips lower. Hermione sighed, arching, and then Kreacher popped in. 'There's a problem in Varna camp.'

Viktor straightened immediately. 'Get Drago and the parents there, and Paavo and whomever else. We'll be there in five minutes.'

He very nearly broke his own rule, and wondered how this day could get worse.

Ron Weasley's day was actually not bad at all, but he knew rather more about snakes than he might have liked, and quite a bit more about elves. Which is to say that he was currently absolutely full-up with both, and Nagini was making him more nervous by the instant.

He rose, stretching, and hopped off the bed, having taken a quick rest. The Room of Requirement, at least, was an interesting place to be. At the moment it looked more or less like a regular house, with small bedrooms, a living area with overstuffed chairs, a radio and a whole library of books and games.

There was a small kitchen filled with snacks (the elves brought actual meals three times a day), a WC, a bathroom with a tub and shower, and best of all, areas for each species. There were three, not counting the elves, because Greg had brought his family's kneazles, five adults and three kits, who were currently spread across their own little preserve, toasting in a patch of (artificial?) sunlight. One of the fat little kits noticed his approach, and rose onto her stubby legs when she saw him, mewing excitedly until he got close enough to play with.

He sat down and stroked her chest. Nagini was approaching him determinedly, and Ron, with a rather Amycus-like twitch, cuddled little Treacle closer to his chest and pretended not to notice until she wrapped about him like a muscle-bound jumper and stared up with her great eyes.

'No tree, Nagini.'

The other kits were approaching, eager to climb on Nagini's back for a ride. She obliged, hissing every so often. Ron squirmed a bit, face going pink. Nagini stared piercingly and chased some baby kneazles with her tail, who responded by pouncing her, thoroughly loving every second.

'I vas bored, is all. Von't happen again vith the tree.'

He hadn't meant, he reflected, to distress Nagini that day. Most assuredly not, except this little body was full of energy, and sometimes merely running whilst being pursued by a giant snake simply doesn't mean what it once did. And the room could produce anything, after all, so why not, whilst the older people were napping, simply conjure a modest tree, suitable for climbing, and climb it?

It had been quite a good tree, he further thought, low but with long, sturdy branches he could easily scoot out on. So up he had hied, giggling a little, and been most of the way up (and JUST FINE, thank you) when things had rather gone pear-shaped, through no fault of his own.

Which is to say he abruptly found himself staring at Muggy, who beamed, eyes beginning to well. 'Master Ivan, Muggy is here!'

'_Rahat_!' He'd gasped, hand reaching for his next handhold and failing. He felt himself wobbling and thrust forward blindly to find something to hold himself. He failed, wavered, and would likely have fallen (on a padded surface! It was the Room of Requirement!) had the elf not reached for him and grabbed him, hovering them both gently above the ground.

Unfortunately, Nagini had somehow got wind of happenings, and slithered up to investigate. Before Ron knew it he was being seized about the waist and hauled in by an irate giant snake, who promptly brought him down straightaway.

'Hello, Nagini. Thank you for—youch!'

He jumped half out of his skin at the flick from the very tip of her tail, on the back of his thighs. It was, he freely acknowledged, a very light flick for a giant snake. Ron was not, to be factual, a giant snake, and so it felt a lot like being thumped quite firmly.

His hands flew back. 'Ouch, Nagini!'

Nagini was not in the mood to hear it. Taking his wrist, she'd taken him right to Aunt Hetty, who had, strangely and gallingly, laughed for at least a full minute.

'Nagini wants to know why you were trying to fly.'

'I vasn't! I just climb a bit!'

'She's upset. She thought you might fall.'

'It vould be fine, is Vroom.'

Nagini shook the tip of her tail at him fiercely and kept hissing. 'She says no more climbing trees.'

'All vright, all vright.'

She was enforcing it, too, Nagini. As if sensing his line of thought she half-opened a single large eye and stared. He stroked her skull-crests.

'I am just bored. Maybe ve could find something to do together?'

The snake seemed to consider. Finally she uncoiled and they went to see the others. Ron sighed as least thirty more elves appeared, all of them beaming. 'Vhere are you from?'

'Newly's, Master…Master?'

'Ivan Krum of Bulgaria.'

The elves cheered, excited by the strange goings-on. One stepped forward. 'Kirry has a message from Master Severus Snape to the people in the Room of Requirement.'

'Come vith us, please. Ve find Aunt Hetty and Madam Vrita. And Greg.'

The others were rising from the afternoon doze. The elf bowed low and handed over a sheet of paper with a flourish. 'Master Severus Snape sends his complements. He sends elves to help, many more elves.'

Muggy appeared to help with the new arrivals and find them places to go. The elves cheered and vanished. Ron noticed Nagini eyeing him and settled down to explain the problem he was experiencing, vis a vis Nagini's continued scrutiny and his own urge to do literally anything to burn off some of his energy.

Madam Skeeter spoke up. 'Actually, I've an idea.'

'Vhat's that?'

'Muggle children have something called a play…play yard. No, playground. A playground.'

'Vhat is it?'

'A special place to climb with padding and so forth. The Room could easily produce a small-scale one for you, I'm sure. And Nagini as well.'

'Vhat do you think, Nagini?'

Nagini squinted thoughtfully and hissed. Aunt Hetty laughed softly and stroked her neck. 'She says all right, but she has to be with you.'

'Done.'

Rita stood up and slipped on her shoes. 'Small is going to check the Hall.'

'Be careful, my dear.'

'Yes, be careful.'

She didn't come back for hours. Ron and Nagini, who'd had an excellent romp, became worried enough to stop playing and come to sit with the others. Greg lifted him easily and sat him in his lap. An elf brought them a book and Greg read in his deep, slow voice, stumbling here and there.

'Sometimes' the fellow had confided to Ron once 'when I look at the words, the letters reverse themselves. Weirdest thing, that. Happens to my da, too.'

Rita finally came back, face white. 'We have to save them.'

'Save whom?'

She sat down, shaking. 'I can't…could Nagini take the little boy?'

Ron started to protest but Nagini gently coiled his wrist and he couldn't. Maybe he didn't want to know, after all. He followed her to their new play space, a warren of tunnels and all sorts of fascinating things to climb. Nagini found a secluded corner and they curled up together.

Ron snuggled into the snake's coils and waited to find out what awful thing had happened now.


	80. Chapter 80

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**I'm working on a senior project right now, so it's touch and go, gang. Happy Thanksgiving to American readers if we don't hear from one another before then.**

By the time they got there things were more or less winding down, and Bellatrix's mind had shifted to the wolf children, whom they'd loosed on the countryside that morning to hunt for game, and to give the adult wolves a chance to root out a dangerous predator of some sort that was picking at the flocks and had bitten a woman, either a large feral dog or a wild animal of some kind.

Well, not loosed. They did want to go, and it helped that they could track and catch food to bring back, but the last thing they needed was for the three dozen or so older children they'd sent with Galca and the others to come back at a moment like this, a moment where anything could reignite the fires of potential mutiny.

Most of Varna camp's five thousand aurors were standing in ranks under the hot sun as the boy stared at them. He was quite a good starer, really, she thought. The girl was with Draco and the others, keeping an eye on things.

'Well?'

A janissary stepped forward and knelt. 'Majesty, there was a problem between some Turks and some Romanians.'

'Your name, captain?'

'Hassan, Majesty, Sa'id Hassan, captain of Lion Regiment.'

'Rise, captain. What sort of problem?'

Hassan squirmed a bit and muttered something. The boy stepped closer and the captain sighed with relief and asked a question. The boy swished and the two spoke for a moment before the boy cancelled the privacy ward and came back to them, not before clapping the captain's shoulder in a gesture of thanks.

'It would seem' said the boy finally, casting his own ward 'there was a dispute over a…lady. A Romanian accused one of the Turks of…it involved a pig.'

The girl's lips thinned. 'I see.'

'Quite.'

'What shall we do?'

Draco spoke up, hand on the arm of the shocked-looking Anu. 'We need to make an example, albeit a minor one.'

'I agree. Hermione?'

'I think so. Do you want to do this?'

'No, but I will.'

He strode back toward the aurors. 'Bring me the ringleaders, Captain Hassan. I wish to deal with them personally.'

Janissaries brought a handful of men forward, bound and Silenced. The boy kept glaring at them a full minute or more. Not half-bad, thought Bellatrix, squinting approvingly, not bad at all. Perhaps the nice was some sort of phase. Young people do that, don't they, have phases?

'Would someone like to explain to me why the tsarina and the others, and myself, were called from our capital and PLANNING A DAMNED WAR to deal with this issue?'

One of the men spoke up. 'A lady's honour was at stake, Majesty.'

'How so? Speak freely, auror…?'

'Yilmaz, Majesty.'

'One of those fellows' he gestured to a glowering Romanian 'kissed a woman and would not stop when she protested. One of my men stepped in and the Romanian implied that he…'

'The pig?'

'The pig.'

'I see.'

Anu went up on tip-toes to whisper in Draco's ear. Draco's eyes widened and he made his way to the boy's side and did the same, except for the tip-toes. Viktor's brows shot up.

'I am given to understand a statement like that would be most offensive to you, sir?'

'Most offensive.'

'Thank you, auror. Galca, bring the Romanian forth.'

Galca did it, eyes narrowed as the fellow swaggered out. The boy was staring him down, looking very wide about the shoulders and consequently quite intimidating. Bellatrix squinted harder and Rodolphus squeezed her hand, nodding approvingly. Yes, she determined, a mere phase.

'What have you to say for yourself?'

'I kissed a girl, was all, Majesty.'

'Did she tell you to stop?'

'She was a whore.'

'That hardly answers my question, auror.'

'Who's she to tell me what to do?'

The boy was quiet for at least two full minutes, long enough that the onlookers started to squirm. He finally spoke, deep slow voice carrying over the beach.

'Who is she, auror? Who is she?'

Then he leant over, picked the fellow up by the front of the tunic, and shook him like a dog with a rat. 'She's a subject and human, damn you!'

The auror reeled when he was set back on his feet, and blinked. 'But she's a-'

'Prostitute, yes. What of it?'

'Who's she to pick and choose?'

'Because even a whore won't be had by a dog, sir. She has the same right not to transact business as any person in the Empire. What say you to that?'

'She's just a-'

'A whore, you've said. Do you know who I am?'

'Majesty?'

'I am the TSAR OF MOST OF EUROPE, AND I AM TELLING YOU, AS GOD IS MY WITNESS, YOU WILL NOT TREAT THAT OR ANY WOMAN THIS WAY WITHIN THE REACH OF MY ARM! Mr. Galca, seize this man and have him brought for trial, please.'

'As for the others, gentlemen: You are very lucky I have no time to deal further with this matter. I ask only that you apologise to one another, and give your word this will not happen again. If it does, I will personally execute the leaders for mutiny, is that clear?'

Assent, and nervous looks. The two groups shook hands and, at the boy's word, dispersed. Galca came back about then, and told them the Romanian was in the prison on Tsar Ivan the Fourth Street.

'Excellent. Thank you, Mr. Galca.'

'I'm sorry, Majesty.'

'You didn't do anything.'

'I'm angry a Romanian behaved this way.'

The boy looked prepared to respond when another wolf jogged up, looking anxious.

'Hello, Mihai. Is everything all right?'

'The children wanted to bring their catch to honour their Majesties.'

'That's bad?'

'No, sire. Costin, they want to…honour the tsarina especially.'

'Oh dear God. It's that Bojan, isn't it?'

'He and four of the others brought down a bear.'

'Where did they find a bear, Mihai?'

'It had been bothering the people of…Sharinka? We sent the adults to deal with it, but it found the children and a dozen of them brought it down.'

'My God, who's hurt?' The girl stepped up, looking about herself, alert as a doe scenting a predator.

'No one, Majesty. They're children but also wolves. The bear had been hit by several crossbow bolts, it was probably dying anyway.'

'Brought it down with what?'

'A tree branch and some rocks, apparently, Majesty.'

'We must speak to them, that was awfully dangerous.'

'Yes, Majesty. They wish to, ah, to honour you both. The pelt for the tsar, once it's cured, and…'

The girl raised a brow. 'Tell me, please.'

'The heart for yourself. It's out tradition, you see. The alpha eats the choicest part, and the heart is said to hold the beast's courage.'

'I see.'

'They want to bring it directly.'

'You mean eat it raw?'

'Yes.'

'This is a test, isn't it?'

Galca and the young wolf Mihai nodded. The girl squared her shoulders.

'Bring them, Mr. Galca.'

The heart was still beating a little as the boy Bojan, red to the shoulders, held it up, dripping purple onto the sand. Hermione extended her hands for it, cradled it in her palms a moment, and then raised it to her mouth.

The first bite caused a gout of blood, a gush that ran down her chin and stained her down the front of her gown. She didn't stop. She sawed with her teeth and then raised her head, chewing hard, more blood gushing from her mouth, glittering on her teeth.

Besides Bellatrix Rodolphus groaned through his teeth and Narcissa inhaled deeply. Her friendly little adder raised up from his place about her neck and hissed curiously, head cocked. Narcissa reached up to smooth his slick, warm hide. 'There there, George. Hermione is doing so well.'

Hermione swallowed, and for a dizzy second her mother expected her to vomit it. The wolf-children were watching intently, silent and still. The girl took another bite, and Bellatrix thought she could hear flesh rending under her daughter's teeth, the dull scrape of the girl's nails as she ripped at the heart. She chewed and ripped and swallowed for an eternity, until the final bite went down and she looked like a harpy, bloody from nose to ankles. The final bite was hardest. She pressed a hand to her stomach and closed her eyes. It stayed down.

One of the wolf-children yipped. 'Alpha! Girl-alpha!'

The others took it up, and ran forward to kneel, show their necks, and frisk like excited pups. Hermione smiled gently at them all, dripping blood. The boy Bojan was last. He knelt slowly, and then extended his neck a little. Hermione leant forward deliberately and smeared a little of the blood on him.

He bounded up. 'Girl-alpha!' Bojan sounded scandalized but also a little amused, and touched the back of his neck, eyes wide.

'Bojan?'

Galca spoke up. 'Perhaps a dip in the sea for the children, Majesty?'

'A good idea, Mr. Galca. Why don't we all take advantage of the good weather?'

The children cheered and bounded directly into the surf, sleek as young otters. The adults sent for swimming costumes and some umbrellas for shade, and then went in as well, dodging excited wolf-children.

Hermione didn't bother with her bathing costume, not right away. She just waded in and ducked under. The water coloured briefly and then the sea took the blood away. Hermione came up clean and then just stood as the waves played about her.

Bellatrix squinted, too proud for words. Hermione seemed to sense her scrutiny and turned back slowly, waving. 'Mother? The water is fine.'

Bellatrix waded out to meet her, caring not a wit about her clothes. 'Well done, sweetheart.'

Hermione leant her head on her mother's shoulder, and they stood in the water together a long time.

It was late when Nagini finally caught her, having scented her for days. It was a smell like youth, and blood, and desperation. Nagini set her best lieutenants to the task, and then, when reports favoured her, lay in wait behind a large and ugly frozen thing her humans called a statue.

Nagini flew out of hiding as the figure, robed and hooded, crept toward the Room, and had the little human coiled before she could move, mouth stopped with Nagini's tail. She sniffed, curious and then angry.

Ignoring the feeble struggles, Nagini dragged the little female straight through the wall and brought her directly to the older females, who were relaxing in the squashy-chair place.

_/hetty-speaker nagini found this girl why is she hurt why is she here/_

Nagini released her and the girl stumbled back. 'Don't let er urt me, please!'

'Who are you?'

'Yseult, Yseult Ropion! Please, don't urt me!'

Rita-human stood up, stick pointed at the girl's head. 'Why are you here?'

'Charm, please?'

Rita moved her stick and a light came out of it. _'*Better?*'_

'_*Yes, thank you. I want…I want to help you.*'_

'_*Help us?*'_

'_*Help Hermione. Please, I…I can't go back, I can't.*'_

Hetty-Speaker stood up and slowly approached. _'*All right, darling. Shh, shhh. Calm down now.*'_

'_*I can't! I just want to go back to school! He's so awful!*'_

'_*Your husband?*'_

'_*Wetherell. He hurts me.*' _

She tugged her skin up and showed where her underskin, her real skin, was speckled with hurtmarks like Ivan-young's had been. Nagini sniffed her all over, and realized that the speckles were everywhere, and worse things.

'_*Oh, darling, I am so sorry. Could we ask you to make an Unbreakable Vow, if you are serious?*'_

'_*Anything.*'_

She and Hetty-Speaker did it whilst Rita-human made more stick lights. The girl stood huddled and Nagini coiled her, knowing she hurt too much to sit down. The girl nestled into her, shaking.

'_*He's s-so cruel! And he does…things… to them. The girls. I know he does!*'_

Hetty-Speaker cooed softly. _'*Poor love.*'_

'_*What do I do?*'_

Hetty-Speaker sighed deeply. _/hetty doesnt know how to fix this nagini/_

_/her mate is the quiet one that likes to hurt/_

_/wetherell mcnair yes/_

_/the one rita-human saw hurting those wolf- girl-young/_

_/yes/_

_/rita-human says we need to save the girl-young too cant we do both hetty-speaker/_

_/how/_

Nagini wound the girl a little tighter_. /nagini sends snakes /_

_/to eat wetherell/_

_/not yet first to watch/_

Hetty-Speaker translated for the others. The girl was making eye-water, and made a little prey-squeak when she saw Greg-young. Nagini coiled her closely and moved away from the others so she'd feel safer. Greg-young quietly stood up as well, and went away so the girl wouldn't smell so much like prey.

'_*Yseult, my darling girl, you are so brave. We need you to help us help you, can you do that?*'_

'_*I can't! I didn't even want to go to Bulgaria last Christmas! I just went so no one would hurt Alise!*'_

'_*And that was awfully brave of you, my darling, it was. If you'd rather stay here you may, but that will make some things harder.*'_

'_*What things?*'_

'_*Wetherell knows things that could save a lot of lives. If you could get Rita close enough, we could send copies directly to Snape or one of the others.*'_

'_*To Hermione?*'_

'_*Yes, to my niece.*'_

The girl rested her head on Nagini's back._ '*I'd have to go back.*'_

'_*What if Rita went with you as a spy? She's an animagus, you know.*'_

'_*Wetherell doesn't l-like animals! He th-threw my little d-dog from a window because he said the b-barking annoyed him, but she only barked because he…he…*'_

'_*You needn't say if you don't want to. And Rita is a darling little beetle, small enough to hide in your pocket.*'_

'_*May I see?*'_

Rita-human made herself a bug, and the girl smelt happy for first time. Not happy, but less terrified. She made a yes head shake and Nagini relaxed a fraction so Rita-human could land on her finger and buzz her beetle's wings.

'_*I could save some of them, if I did? Those girls?*'_

'_*We think so.*'_

'_*What about Wetherell? If I help you, would Hermione…if she's queen now, she could invalidate my marriage, couldn't she?*'_

'_*I don't know, sweetheart, but it's likely you'll be widowed before that's an issue.*'_

Yseult-young smelt less afraid. _'*Do I…do I have to kill him?*'_

'_*Not directly. We would send a snake when the time was right.*'_

Hetty-Speaker bent and an adder, cousin to Narcissa-human's George, slithered into her hand. _'*This is Caroline. She's a very sweet girl, and she'd love to be your friend.*'_

Yseult-young might have smelt like prey, but she raised her head and took the adder in her hand all the same. Caroline slithered to her and flicked her tongue over the girl's salty cheeks.

_/caroline goes with this one/_

_/yes protect her and when the time is right bite her mate/_

_/nagini eats him/_

_/no/_

_/no/_

_/nagini is saving him for yseult-young/_

_/she is quite puny/_

_/she might get bigger humans sometimes do/_

Caroline hissed agreement and went to slither down Yseult-young's back. Yseult-young made a soft laugh-noise. _'*She is mine now?*'_

'_*You're hers, more than anything. But yes, snakes are a very loyal sort.*'_

Caroline (whose snake-name was sSSsshaHkGhzss), poked her head up and flicked Yseult-young's ear to make her laugh a little more.

'_*Rita?*'_

Rita-human flew to Yseult-young's collar and climbed under, wings flicking to show the way they flashed in the light. Nagini thought so, anyway—she couldn't see quite that well. Yseult-young touched her back.

'_*Thank you, madame…?*'_

'_*Nagini. She's a giant Albanian rocksnake.*'_

'_*Thank you. And yourself, Madame Feathering.*'_

She stood up cautiously, walking as if every step hurt, because every step did. Nagini bent and sniffed worriedly and then looked at Hetty-Speaker.

'_*Ready, love?*'_

'_*I think so.*'_

Watching her walk back through the wall made Nagini pause_. /hetty-speaker/_

_/nagini/_

_/it is the bravest thing nagini sees a human do/_

_/hetty thinks so too/_

She knelt down and hugged Nagini's neck and Nagini coiled her, hissing, unable to find words to describe her feelings about the situation.

Narcissa Malfoy was speaking to her own brave little adder. She rubbed George's belly as he rolled, full from the pigeon's heart he'd eaten earlier, and hissed with pleasure, eyes half-closed.

'Well, my darling, we've had quite a day.'

Lucius cleared his throat. 'Sometimes I do believe you like that snake more than myself.'

'Not more, differently.'

'How comforting.'

'He likes you.'

'I rather tipped to that when I began to wake to find him coiled in my hair.'

George put his head up at an angle, indicating he was amused. Lucius growled a bit, stroking the snake's sinuous neck. 'He's certainly a friendly fellow.'

'And the children adore him.'

The wolf-children treated them—Narcissa and George—with an element of superstitious respect, and had from the moment they'd first seen her with a fully-grown, if diminutive, adder about her neck like a scarf. George, on the other hand, quite liked them, and often slithered in the midst of a dozing group to sniff and hiss and soak up body heat.

Hermione's elderly tom happened by, trailed by a cloud of little ones. He stopped to fluff his ruff at them, inviting scratches, and then briskly moved on, leading a small band to the cellars to hunt for rats.

'Draco is well. Marriage agrees with him.'

'I think so. Vaike's certainly devoted to him.'

'And him to her, Cissy. I think their children will be quite formidable.'

Narcissa nodded. Vaike didn't say much to her but she was slowly unwinding a bit, and Narcissa liked what she'd seen so far. The girl suffered no fools gladly and seemed able to deal with things as they came.

Lucius sat down and lifted Paavo's little wolf-child into his arms. 'Hello, Little Paavo.'

'Lo. Bird.' He held up a strangled pigeon by the legs. Even the smallest children stalked prey, and the slightly bigger ones often caught it. Narcissa was confronted multiple times a day with some proud child showing her a luckless bird caught unawares, and praised them every time for their cunning and resourcefulness.

'I see you've caught a bird. Let's let an elf take it and cook it, hmm?'

The toddler shook the floppy pigeon. 'Paavo catch it.'

'How brave of you. Will we have it at dinner?'

The boy nodded, beaming. 'Yes! Big Paavo?'

'He's with Costin right now, remember?'

'Sick.'

'Paavo has a cold, yes.'

The boy eeled down, still holding the dead pigeon. An elf appeared and managed to talk the child into letting it take the filthy thing to be plucked and roasted for dinner. Narcissa told the elf to make sure the boy's hands were washed and then leant back.

'Lucius?'

'Narcissa?'

'What will we do when the war is done?'

'The invasion, you mean.'

'Yes. Once we've won.'

'I meant to ask you the same. How do you feel about things?'

'I wish to stay here. I do not believe living in England for any length of time would be advisable ever again.'

'Malfoy Manor is our home.'

'And will always be, but we need some years at minimum, I think.'

He nodded, hands knotted between his knees. 'I agree, though I am loathe to.'

'Draco does not wish to go back, I do not think.'

'Have you asked him?'

'Not yet. I hesitate to speak to him.'

'Why?'

Lucius sighed deeply. 'Narcissa, Martin is not the only person who has failed his son.'

'Lucius, no.'

'I do not know where to begin addressing the…absolute failures on my part. I did not merely…this is not a matter of perhaps making a few choices which, looking back, were ill-advised, Cissy. This is a total…everything I ever taught him was a lie, Cissy, everything.'

'No. Not everything.'

He shook his head immediately. 'It was. Blood purity, our superiority as Malfoys…Vaike is a Halfblood, did you know that? And I am grateful every single day for it, because I'd rather Draco be with someone like her than a Pureblood who wouldn't understand him.'

'Alise Scabior is a muggleborn. Anu is…Anu was…what does it matter now?'

'It would have mattered very much five years ago.'

She couldn't deny that. 'Look at how he's turned out, Lucius. They write songs about his courage and loyalty.'

'I am not saying Draco is not those things. He is. I am saying sometimes I feel he is those things in spite of what we taught him, not because of it.'

'I think so too.'

'So what do we do, Cissy?'

'I suppose we should start by telling Draco we were wrong. Telling him we're sorry.'

'If you want to start with apologies, Cissy, start with me.'

Narcissa's head whipped round. 'Meddie? Andromeda?'

She and Bellatrix were standing abreast of one another, as alike as two people could be. Her hair was still very black, and she was showing her teeth. Not smiling, but showing her teeth.

'Hello, Narcissa. Lucius.'

'Andromeda. I shall leave you ladies alone for now.'

Andromeda sat down on the bench. 'You've got taller, baby sister.'

'You haven't.'

Andromeda laughed a bit and touched her hand. 'Trixie seems to think we ought to reconcile. How do you feel?'

'I think so too.'

'I don't know what I think right now, but I would like to hear you both out, at least.'

Bellatrix sat on Meddie's other side. 'Hmmph, there's a change. She used to be so stubborn about things, remember?'

Andromeda snorted. 'You're one to talk, Bellatrix Druella.'

'Shut up.'

'You shut up.'

Andromeda turned back to Narcissa. 'Your son scares my husband.'

'My son scares me.'

'He should, but I would like to meet him all the same. After dinner, perhaps.'

'I'd like that.'

'So' said Bellatrix finally 'where do we start?'

'What happened, Bellatrix? Narcissa? I want to understand.'

The former Black sisters stood as one and went inside to unpick the knots of the past.


	81. Chapter 81

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Happy Thanksgiving!**

**Congratulations, Snape's Wife to Be!**

Hermione stretched, bowed, and threw a dangerous and probably-illegal hex at her Uncle Rabastan, who turned it back on her. She dodged it, but narrowly, and felt a cut open on her cheek as she rose from her dive and swung her arm. A lash of flame shot out and snaked toward her uncle, who backed up and countered it with one of his own, trying to pull her wand from her hand.

Hermione had learnt to counter the weakness in her right hand, her wand hand, but it was hard, and often she felt at a disadvantage. No time now, she thought, and used one of Grindelwald's spells in the knowledge the gallery was safely warded.

'Aguacompleo!'

Water gushed from the tip of her wand, a torrent that she had to fight almost as hard as she was her uncle. The water, as Grindelwald had explained it, was almost an animate force itself. Immediately a current developed, nearly knocking her off her feet. Uncle Rab, who had warded himself and kept firing, seemed rather less perturbed than she might have liked.

Hermione ducked a jinx and concentrated. 'Aramurus!'

A rock cliff sprang from the water and Hermione forced herself up it, ignoring the screaming pains in her legs and back and the shuddering weakness in her right hand. She had the high ground from this position and sent spells down, hiding behind the narrow, rocky outcrops.

Uncle Rabastan was still firing, having secured a place for himself on a kind of little floating island that made it hard to fix his position long enough to get a good angle and meant she had to lean from cover to try to engage him directly.

Hermione ducked behind cover again and pointed her wand at the water. She swirled her wrist and the water started to circle. 'Gerges.'

The water began to eddy faster, and Uncle Rabastan tumbled into the water, still firing. Uncle Lucius, who was refereeing the duel, called a stop and began to dismantle the things they'd made, starting with Hermione's little rock mountain. He levitated her, and then, grinning a little, 'accidentally' dropped her a little ways into the water. Uncle Rab grabbed her at once, laughing, and dunked her under again before the water vanished and elves came to dry them, scolding the whole time.

'Excellent, darling! I am so proud of how well you did.'

Hermione grinned and hugged him. 'That was a hard fight!'

'You bested me in it.'

She shook her head. 'It was luck. In a real fight it would have been worse.'

'Are you up for another duel, girl?'

Mother stood at her elbow, head back, squinting at her. Hermione squinted back and considered. Before she could answer an elf appeared.

'Majesty, the children have caught enough game for the Imperial table.'

'Is there enough for everyone else as well?'

'Yes, Majesty, plenty for everyone.'

Of course, enough game to actually make a full meal for almost a thousand children was unlikely, but there would be enough to see the children got the bulk of the meat, and servings of vegetables, rice and whatever else they could convince them was edible. Thankfully, most of the children were waiting for them upstairs for the hunters to return.

'After dinner, Mother?'

'After dinner, then.'

Viktor rubbed her shoulders when they got to their rooms and out of the shower (without little ones clamouring from outside!). 'That was impressive, Hermione.'

'He was going easy on me.'

'Wasn't.'

'He was.'

'What is it going to take to convince you, I wonder?'

'Besting Mother in a duel, why?'

He laughed softly and kept rubbing her aching muscles. 'You don't want much, love. What will you do when you're my age?'

'I'm going to invent a broom that flies to the moon.'

He laughed harder. 'What would you do on the moon?'

'I'm not that far in my plans yet.'

'Yet I can't get you on the conventional kind of broom…'

She groaned. 'Viktor!'

'Hermione!'

'You mustn't pick on me.'

'Why?'

'Er, I'm not that far in my plans yet.'

He laughed and lay down and she curled up against his chest, eyes closing. He began to gently rub her back. 'They sent me another petition today.'

'About what?'

'Mama. They want her moved to Sofia.'

'How do you feel about it?'

'I hate it but we might need to give in.'

'Why?'

Viktor breathed deeply. 'Paavo says there's an influx of street preachers. Some of them are all in favour of things and some of them…aren't. They don't like how things are now.'

'The English?'

'Partly. Mostly they don't like the allies. And someone's leaked word about the dragons.'

'Ah.'

'Ah. They're afraid of you, I think.'

'What are they saying?'

'I'm sure Paavo didn't say.'

'I could always ask him myself.'

Viktor squirmed a little. 'No need, love. It just disturbs them that you're so powerful.'

'Viktor.' She glared fiercely, actively channeling Mother, and then writhed as he tickled her sides for a moment.

'They say you…well, that you're the devil's wife.'

'Oh, is that all? Here I thought it was serious.'

'Sirius is more likely to accuse you of being too much like Mother.'

'That is the most appalling pun, Viktor. Does it even work in Bulgarian?'

'It does not. If you practiced more, you'd know that.'

'You're sleeping with Bess tonight.'

'Bess is already fluent, but all right.'

Hermione huffed and pounced him, tickling. He tickled right back, and soon they were wrestling and laughing. The door flew open and they both stopped, groping for their wands, as half a dozen children streamed in. Hermione gasped and used her wand to shield them from view, creating a privacy charm to make sure no one saw anything, and then eased off Viktor, summoning her wrapper. The children took the scene in without comment until one of them said casually 'Just mating, brothers. Told you.'

'Perhaps you would step out so the tsar and I might get dressed?'

The children didn't move. 'Why did you put that screen up?'

'Humans don't like to be naked in front of other people, remember? Once we're dressed we can talk about it.'

They shuffled out, grumbling amongst themselves about weird human habits. Hermione called an elf to help her dress as Viktor skinned into a clean tunic and trousers, and his valet slipped his boots on.

'Every time.' Viktor shook his head mournfully. 'Every time.'

She laughed. 'Not every time.'

'Hmmph.'

The wolf-children trooped back in. 'Why are you alone in here?'

'The tsar and I are married. We sometimes go off just the two of us to spend time.' Hermione hoped they'd get the hint but she suspected that she'd be explaining this again sometime soon.

Nods all round. 'Don't you want to be with the Pack?'

'Of course we do.'

'Then why don't you?'

'Humans like to be private sometimes. Remember private?'

Viktor was shaking his head, smiling a little. The children sat on the floor, seemingly content just to watch them go about their lives. Hermione felt like she should say something.

'Why did you all come in? Was something the matter?'

'We heard noises. We wanted to be sure you were all right.'

'If you think there's a problem, you should get Costin or Mihai.'

The children all chuckled a bit. 'That isn't how it works, girl-alpha.'

Hermione was about to discover much more about that, to her sorrow. But not for a little while, so she smiled and shooed the children out, thinking no more about it.

Bellatrix stood, a toddler on her hip, and her spine crackled. Andromeda raised a brow and hefted her own toddler, smiling at the girl, who clutched her neck and squealed with glee. Bellatrix jiggled her toddler a bit, not sure quite how she felt.

'Trixie?'

'Meddie?'

'Are you in pain? You're standing like you are.'

'My back, a bit.'

'Take something for it?'

'I'm fine.'

One of the older children came up. 'Back hurts again.'

'A little bit, boy, a little bit.'

'Tell girl-alpha?'

'Not you too.'

'Me, too.' He beamed up and held her leg, snuggling against her. Then he sniffed and moved to Andromeda. 'Smell the same.'

'We're sisters.'

'Sister?'

'We had the same mummy and daddy.'

He bit his lip. 'Dunno.'

Andromeda raised a brow, Narcissa-like. Seeing her sister again, Bellatrix was discovering so much family history in her, so many flashes of people long gone and times far passed. It was uncomfortable, and oddly pleasant, sometimes.

Hermione's manky old tom strode grandly into the yard and the older boy went to pay him court, stroking his neck and happy-growling softly. Crookshanks nuzzled him, purring, and the two of them set off to stalk a bird together, the boy trailing the cat.

'It's hard, isn't it, seeing how that monster damaged these children?'

'It is, yes.'

More little ones were coming up to them, and Andromeda sat down and let herself be swarmed. 'That's quite how I feel sometimes. Do you?'

Bellatrix steadied a child. 'Explain.'

'Our family…you changed overnight, Bellatrix. I just remember you woke up one morning and it was like the Dark Lord had taken over your soul.'

'No.'

'Surely you knew what he was.'

'Yes. I did know that.'

'How could you justify it to yourself, then?'

Bellatrix spread her hands. 'I could ask you the same. Quid pro quo, little sister?'

'All right. I didn't want to marry Adelbert Nott.'

'Fair enough. I suppose…you must understand that…' Bellatrix inhaled, feeling uncharacteristically unsure of herself, groping for words. She grunted, annoyed, and her wolf-toddler raised his head and sniffed worriedly.

'I had a choice—either take the Mark and become…more than, or don't, marry and spend the rest of my life wishing I had.'

Andromeda nodded. 'Ted has always been very kind to me.'

'He was the only person who thought I could do more—be more—than a brood sow. Even Daddy didn't think so. Do you know how much that hurt?'

'I was a month pregnant with Dora.'

'When he offered—I was the first woman, did you know that? The first one he felt was worthy of it. Worthy of making things happen, of using magic—real magic, not stupid hair-straightening spells or cleaning charms.'

'That was why Daddy wanted me to marry Nott. He was willing to take me used, for a price. So I left.'

'It was so…it was so beautiful, at first. He taught me to use my magic, really use it, and it was like…' Bellatrix bent her head to Andromeda's ear and whispered. Andromeda's eyebrows shot up and she giggled, shocked.

'It isn't either!'

'It is so.'

'Fine, fine. Then what?'

'Your turn, Meddie.'

'You know the rest.'

'So do you.'

'No, I don't. I want to understand, Bellatrix, I do. But it's hard. I was friends with Alice and Frank Longbottom, did you know that?'

'I didn't.'

'So tell me. Please.'

'It didn't all happen at once. Things began to get bad—really bad—about seventy-six, do you remember?'

'I do.'

'To be counted worthy of helping to fix that—you've no idea. The magic was so strong, and so pure.'

'And you were addicted to it.'

'Don't try to turn this into some trite little cautionary tale, Andromeda.'

'That's better than thinking you did it for simple sadism, isn't it?'

'What, you think I woke up one morning and decided to go torture those people?'

'Yes' said Andromeda calmly. 'That's exactly what I think.'

'Well, I didn't. We thought they knew where he was and-'

'Decided to torture the Longbottoms to find out where they'd hid him?'

'And if we hadn't, and he'd killed Mother or Linnea—Linnea Crouch—for not looking hard enough?'

'Yes, you were always so concerned about Mother, Bellatrix.'

'You're one to talk, skulking off like a dog in the night after Tonks. Tonks, for God's sake. Can he tie his own shoestrings now or must you do that for him as well?'

Bellatrix expected Andromeda to storm out but she didn't. 'Ted is a good man.'

'He's an imbecile and you know it.'

'I do not.'

'Was he the one who attacked my daughter at Durmstrang, or did he merely stand by and watch like the others? How impressively un-stupid of him.'

'Stop it, Bellatrix.'

'You stop it!'

'Stop what?'

'Stop—stop—being so goddamned reasonable about things, Andromeda!'

Andromeda chuckled drily. 'Why? I'm finally getting under your skin.'

Bellatrix laughed, head in hands. 'I despise it when you think you know more than me.'

'Heaven forbid someone knows more than Bellatrix.'

'What I said.'

'I love you, Bellatrix, but I refuse to let things go because we're sisters. If you want a relationship with me, that's the price. Just because you don't serve the Dark Lord anymore doesn't make you less of a Death Eater.'

Bellatrix blinked. 'By definition, it does.'

'Bellatrix, please.'

Bellatrix called an elf. 'Andromeda and I will need some privacy.'

'Please' added her sister, showing where Hermione had got it from. Some rogue strain, no doubt, she thought, and watched as the elf steered the children out to give them some time alone.

'Well?'

Andromeda's mouth quirked upward. 'You do not frighten me, Bellatrix. You never have or ever shall.'

'Fine.'

'So?'

'So what?'

'What do you believe?'

'I—I wish I knew that.'

'Do you still believe people like my husband deserve to die?'

'No.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes.'

'What changed your mind?'

'This experience.'

'Not good enough. Try again.'

'Damn it, Andromeda!'

Andromeda stared at her blandly. 'Yes?'

'How can you sit there and judge me? Do you know how it was? What I had to do? I sold my child, do you not see that?'

'I do see that. I'm sorry it happened but you chose to put yourself in this position. Indirectly, no doubt, but there were choices there and you made the wrong ones.'

Bellatrix's mouth slammed shut, her legs shaking. She could walk out, she could…damn Andromeda to hell. 'I don't know. I just don't know. I want to be with my daughter and fix the mess we've made. If you want doctrine, ask Rodolphus.'

'I'm asking you.'

'Why?'

'Because you are my sister, and I want to have a relationship with you, but if you are still…I can walk away from this, Bellatrix. I've done it before. This is your sole chance. Use it wisely.'

'What about Narcissa?'

'She and I have talked about things. Now I'm talking to you.'

Bellatrix slumped against a wall and shut her eyes, inhaling deeply. 'Ask me another question, then.'

'Answer the first one and I will.'

'I think…I don't care anymore. About blood purity. It's done nothing but cause misery for us.'

'Fine. Dora is a metamorphmagus. Is that an issue for you?'

'No.'

Andromeda nodded once. 'You don't mind she's married to a werewolf?'

'Look round us, Meddie. Ninety percent of the people here are werewolves. We'll just throw this one on the pile and move forward.'

Andromeda snorted, clamping her lips as though she hadn't meant to. 'Fine. Do you regret the things you've done?'

'Which ones?'

'All of them.'

'Not good enough. Some of them…you do understand they were firing back at us?'

'I don't mean…the war in Wales, for instance. I understand that was… that was a war. This is a war, for that.'

'It is, and I'll have committed more of 'those things' before it's done.'

'I'm aware. I've joined up too.'

'You haven't either.'

'Yes, I have.'

'I won't permit it. You and Cissy, always trying to get yourselves killed.'

'I'm an adult.'

'You're my baby sister.'

Andromeda leant toward her. 'We aren't done here, Bellatrix. I want to talk about other things.'

'Fine. Ask away.'

'Frank and Alice?'

'The Longbottoms, yes. What would you like to know?'

'If you didn't mean to torture them, what did you mean?'

'To find out, like I told you.'

'Why…why did you choose him, Bellatrix? You could've walked away like Lucius did. You didn't. Why?'

'It didn't seem like an option. If your husband died tomorrow, would you just…go about your life like he'd never been?'

'Of course not.'

'How could I? He was everything to me, everything.'

'What about Rodolphus?'

'It wasn't a love match. You knew that. Everyone knew that.'

'Now?'

'You're being a nosy parker, Meddie.'

'Yes.'

'I…I don't know. We're in transition.'

Andromeda nodded a bit. 'Fair enough. Have you discussed these things with him?'

'What do you think?'

'I don't know.'

'Yes. We've discussed it quite a lot.'

'In what context?'

Bellatrix felt like they'd come too far to flinch now. 'Hermione once asked me whether we'd have gone had we known I was pregnant with her. We talked it over.'

'Your conclusion?'

'We'd have gone. And I wouldn't have been pregnant.'

'Does she…what happened to her muggles?'

'What makes you think I know?'

'If you didn't do it, you know damned well who did. I would…I imagine after…everything…a little revenge would seem very sweet, even if it wasn't against the people responsible.'

'I imagine it would.'

Andromeda nodded slowly. 'Does she…?'

'No, or ever shall. Hermione deserves…she needs…don't, Meddie. For me.'

'I wouldn't.'

They sat in silence another few minutes. Then Andromeda stood up and extended a hand. 'I'd like to meet her, if you didn't mind.'

'Grasp my arm, then, and the elf will bind us. Bind you, rather, to secrecy.'

'You are quite serious.'

Bellatrix leant into her sister's ear. 'Do you love your Dora?'

'More than anyone.'

'Do I love my girl any less?'

Andromeda clasped her arm. 'I'm not sure what else you are, Bellatrix, but I think you love your daughter very much.'

'I'll do anything to protect her. Anything.'

'I believe that.'

Andromeda let the elf bind them, and then they went to find the girl.

Sirius came back just before midnight, and Sose was so glad to see him that she dropped her sewing. He was soaking wet and looked exhausted, sinking into a chair, eyes closing. Sose called for towels and hot tea and then wondered what she was supposed to say.

'Sirius?'

'Hello, darling. Snape sent me back to check on things.'

'Is everything all right? All right there, I mean.'

'It's…moving along. It will likely be some time before I get to come back again. What about you?'

'I'm all right. This class is graduating soon.'

'Are they good?'

She nodded, flashing on Anu's pride in his ships. 'I think they are. We're having war games soon, if you're up to it.'

'I am, in fact. Are you going to participate?'

She nodded again, blushing. 'If you don't mind.'

'Of course I don't. What shall you be doing?'

'Working on one of the hospital-ships. I'm not a medi-witch but I've set limbs and things.'

'Sounds like it will be interesting. Where is everyone?'

'Sleeping. It's late here. And we have the wolf-children now.'

'Are they settling in all right?'

Sose took her own mug of tea and sipped. 'I think so. We need to find homes for them soon, but right now everyone seems to be doing well.'

Sirius drained his mug. 'I will turn in. Are you going to come, or did you want to sew a bit more?'

'No, I'll come.'

The elves had warmed the bed, and Sirius slid under the covers in just his shorts and singlet. Sose stripped to her shift and climbed in after, and they settled down as her maid banked the fire a bit higher.

'Aren't those things damp, Sirius?'

'A bit, darling. It's very rainy in Br—well, it's always rainy, but now it's especially bad.'

'Dementors?'

'I daresay. Snape seems to think there are thousands of them someplace in the North Sea.'

She shuddered at the idea. 'We have dragons.'

'We do have dragons, but there's sightings now along the coasts. Snape is nervous and so am I.'

'What can—can I help?'

'I'll let you know. Are you cold?'

'A bit.'

'Shall I move closer?'

'Please.'

He inched closer, until they were almost touching. Sose laid still, heart pounding, lips sore from licking them so much. She could feel Sirius beside her, close enough to brush against, and it was all right.

He burrowed into the bed a little, and very slowly, very carefully, she raised her hand and rubbed his arm. Sirius smiled, not moving, and then she rubbed the other arm as well. His skin was warming under her hands.

'Is that…'

'Do you feel all right with this, Sose?'

'I do.'

'Then so do I.'

She was stunned by her own bravery. Her shift was getting chilled and a little damp from contact with his clammy skin, and so, fingers shaking, she slid it over her head. Sirius's eyes opened and his mouth twitched a little.

Her mouth somehow sort of fell on his, and she felt him touch her hair, gently working the braid out. That was all right too. Everything felt different but not frightening, and when he asked her she said yes.

They slept so late the next morning they nearly missed seeing Anu off for training.


	82. Chapter 82

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Nothing new to report, gang. Hoping everyone had a good holiday (for my American readers) and a pleasant week for everyone else.**

Sirius stretched, shoulder popping hollowly, and touched his cousin's cheek with the back of his hand. 'Don't look so worried, darling. Snape is working on it.'

Hermione shook her head at once. 'It isn't Snape I'm worried about, Sirius. The reprisals will start soon.'

'Yes, but Scabior is working on it.'

'How do you know?'

Sirius's mouth quirked at the memory of meeting the weird little man who'd somehow become part of their extended family. 'He's dressed like a p—like a low man, and couldn't be happier, and seems to know his business in this. He's been visiting industrial concerns and things like that, getting people thinking about things.'

'That's wonderful, but what will that do about reprisals?'

Sirius stretched again, and Hermione's brows tugged together. 'You're putting salve on that.'

'It feels fine.'

'Niska, tell Aunt Sose Sirius needs salve, please.'

Damn it. 'Scabior can't tell them to rebel. It would be noticed. But he can mention…relevant facts…and leave them to their own devices. When the reprisals start, they'll make the connexion.'

'What about the wolves?'

'They're sending Goyle Sr to the centaurs tonight or tomorrow. That should be enough to secure them some ground in the Forbidden Forest. Once that's done the serious harrying can start.'

Hermione hid a smile as Sose marched in, salve in hand. 'Your shoulder again?'

'It's fine.'

'Sirius' both ladies said at the same time, and in identical tones. Kreacher appeared to smirk down, and Sirius, cursing the wretched little maniac, nonetheless cast a privacy ward and let the manky thing smear the salve all over his arthritic shoulder and back.

'Any news of Aunt Hetty and the others?'

Sirius drew a packet of letters from his pocket as soon as his shirt was back on. 'Rita brought this out to us last night. Your friend Yseult sent one.'

'Is she…?'

'No. Wetherell is…not all right.'

'Not all right how?'

Sirius touched her cheek again. 'I would spare you this, Hermione.'

'Please, Sirius.'

'He has…tastes.' Sirius darted his eyes to Sose, who had gone very pink and was looking at her hands, hunched down. He squeezed her hand and tried to find a way to put this until Kreacher leant over and whispered in her ears for a few moments.

'To death?'

'That's what Kreacher heard, Mistress.'

'Your friend wants to help us for precisely that reason. Hetty believes her sincere and so does Rita.'

'What can we do to help her?'

'We aren't sure yet. She's also sent us some papers of Wetherell's and his father's.'

Hermione touched the sealed letters. 'I'll bring these to the Weasleys personally. We can send an elf to Durmstrang, or see if someone wants to see Uncle Des tonight, too.'

The elf left. 'What else, Sirius?'

'Elves are guarding the…when they left Feathering, they…'

'Buried the remains in some secret place so no one could defile them, we know.'

'Did you want them returned?'

'Let me ask Viktor. Of course we do, but this might not be the best use of resources right now, does that make sense?'

'Eminently, but it might be a wise move politically. Give people a symbol.'

'I've the same thought. It's awful, isn't it, how mercenary that is?'

Sirius shook his head, gingerly moving his shoulder. The pain was gone. 'Not at all. They'd be appalled if you didn't find a way to use this to your advantage, or at least Aunt would.'

'She sent me a letter. It was…very like Aunt.'

Sirius snorted. 'That bad, love?'

'No, not bad. Just very like Aunt.'

Sirius snorted harder. 'Doesn't surprise me.'

Hermione turned to listen when an elf appeared. 'Majesty, is nearly time for the meeting.'

'Would you like to come, Sirius?'

'What sort of meeting?'

'Ivan set the whole thing up. Just come along, you'll love it.'

Sirius obeyed, and followed the ladies to a small courtyard in a remote area of the Ministry.

Arthur Weasley was surprised to see Sirius Black come into the courtyard with the tsarina and the shy woman he'd apparently married, but not very. Britain was apparently not as impermeable as the Dark Lord had once liked to boast. Arthur felt his hope, once a mere bud, nourished by the man's presence, starting to open and flower.

Beside him, Molly and Dorina were conferring softly. 'Five minutes, you said?'

'Thereabouts. He's coming from Debrecen via Portkey.'

The boy, the knyaz Ivan, was waiting with his Imperial cousins, watching intently. His sister was there as well, and ran to Sirius's wife as soon as she entered the courtyard. The lad dispatched an elf, and the Portkey activated just as the door opened and the wolf Istok entered the courtyard.

'Majesties, there's some sort of pr—Doru?'

The boy blinked. 'Tata?'

'Doru? My God, it is you. Oh, God, my son, my son is—how?'

The knyaz spoke. 'We thought you'd like a visit.'

Istok turned back to where his son was standing shell-shocked, tears starting. He nodded, throat working. 'Doru? Is it all right if I hug you?'

'Mama said you were dead.'

'Not dead, Doru. Not dead.'

The boy burst into tears and ran to his father, nearly stumbling, and the two met in the middle, clutching one another. Istok held his boy and Arthur felt his own tears threatening. Molly was crying softly into a handkerchief, and Dorina was dabbing her eyes, head cocked away.

'Perhaps we should go?'

The tsar nodded permission, and the group crept out and walked roundabout to the main conference room, where a light repast had been set out. Arthur sat down, his legs feeling a touch weak, and touched Molly's hand. 'Mol?'

'I'm all right, Arthur. Just it was awfully hard, wasn't it? That poor man has been kept from his son on purpose.'

'Unspeakable. I'm glad…'

Their son hovered between them, the memory of sending Ron to England feeling too fresh and new to mention. Molly straightened up and shook her head briskly. She might have spoken more had the door not opened and Toma Kounev shuffled in, eyes on his shoes.

'His Imperial Majesty the tsar and Her Imperial Mjesty the tsarina and—errr…'

'His Grace…'

'His Grace Drago Malfoy and, ah…don't remember.'

'It's all right, Toma, we'll practice it again later.'

Toma nodded, still shuffling. 'Sorry.'

'Why don't you go and see if Yana and Ivan want to bring the surprise visitors, Toma?'

Toma beamed and ran out, nearly knocking Malfoy Jr's wife down as he did. They all watched him go, shaking their heads.

'He's a very good boy, Toma.'

'May I ask, Majesty? Visitors?'

The tsar sat down and so did everyone else. 'Another happy surprise, I hope.'

More ministers were drifting in. They settled down in time for the day's second visitors to be brought in by the young knyaz and knyagina, Toma behind them holding the basket from which the six wriggling puppies had come.

'Puppies?'

'Lady's final litter. Aren't they adorable?' The tsar bent and scratched the closest little furry butterball behind the ear. The puppy's tail wagged and he ran in a circle, barking a high squeaking bark.

The ministers were likewise charmed, and the next ten minutes consisted primarily of the most powerful people in Europe playing with puppies, giving belly-scratches and throwing rag balls for the wiggly little bags of love that had invaded the conference room.

'Ivan, let's take the puppies back to the kennel now, all right?'

The boy nodded obediently. 'Yes, Viktor. Are you Ron Weasley's parents?' This last was directed at Molly and Arthur. The younger Krum boy was a slight, shy-seeming child, very like his cousin in apparent temperament.

'We are.'

'I'm sorry the Dark Lord hurt him. He's a bad man.'

'Yes, he is.'

'Would you like to help us put the puppies back?'

Molly stood up. 'Majesty?'

'Please, Madam Weasley, do.'

The three children surrounded her and the group swept off, with a raft of happy puppies at their feet. Arthur settled back, having been chewed rather thoroughly by one of the pups, but pleased all the same.

'We are all very sorry, Minister, that Ronald isn't here with us right now.'

'Is there any news? If I may ask, sire.'

'He's sent a letter. They are safe and comfortable at Hogwarts, at least.'

'The lady Henrietta?' Osma Pasha was decided not impressed by the idea of a pregnant lady having no help besides some house elves and a great number of snakes and wasn't shy about letting people know it.

'Also well. She is very healthy and excited about her baby.'

'Sire, is there a…'

'That's what we wish to discuss, actually, Minister Tadic. Drago, the map?'

Malfoy Jr swished his wand and the map opened. Britain in all her glory, Albion the brave, the home Arthur hadn't seen in half a decade, which he had fled. His eyes felt warm and prickly as he thought of how Devon smelt on summer's evenings, and the places where the children had most loved to play, and the warm bed where those children had been made, and Scotland, where his youngest son was right now, and London, and the North Sea. Britain, his home. He was going home.

'The burning of the fleet at McHeath's Head has changed things. Britain has never had much of a war fleet anyway—not since the early 1800s, at any rate—but now we think the Dark Lord will be unable to field any sort of fleet to oppose ours. So there's that.'

'On the other hand, the Dementors are our major concern. We're planning to direct the bulk of the fleet to that first, along with the dragons. We have reason to believe the majority of the Dementors are being held in reserve on a small island called Dimnes.'

'At the same time, the remainder of the fleet will head for the mainland to attack Sunderland, which is our point of ingress. Once the city is taken, we'll use it as a base to head south and take the rest of the major population centres en route to London. The wolves are working on making sure that Scotland is cut off from the south to make sure that the lines of communication will be easily severed when the time comes.'

The ministers were quiet. 'London, your Grace?'

'It will be, to put it bluntly, a slaughter. We are hoping the disaffected of the other cities will come to our banners once it becomes evident the Dark Lord is unwilling to help them, but even with that extra help, the fighting will be severe. We're anticipating house-to-house fighting and sustained aerial bombardments lasting several days.'

Arthur swallowed, holding the stem of his goblet tightly. 'The muggles, my lord?'

'We're hoping we can find some way to localise the fighting away from the margins of the muggle areas, but it…it will be touch and go.' He looked quite as unhappy as Arthur felt at the idea, which was oddly comforting.

'Then what? Your Grace?'

'Ideally the Ministry will still be standing. We'll take the Ministry—which will require more fighting, likely- and re-establish communications with the rest of England and Ireland, and Wales. Scotland will be isolated for some time to come to keep the Dark Lord from summoning reinforcements.'

'What about the possibility of the Dark Lord's using the citizens as ad hoc defenders of their own cities?' The Minister from Greece.

Sirius Black answered. 'Probably he'll try, Madam Minister, but our man Scabior is seeing to that. He's from a…less privileged background, so he's engaged in…direct negotiations with people in the…areas that will be hardest hit by our activities.'

'An army of thieves and wh…army of the slums, sir?'

The tsarina spoke. 'These people are Britons. They have as much stake in this as the rest of us British have.'

'But surely they will not be the same as a trained army.'

'Of middle-class people?' Sirius smiled brightly and Arthur bit his cheek, knowing precisely what the woman was implying. So did everyone else, which caused some squirming in people who might have agreed with the minister.

'We are not looking to utilise the people Scabior is approaching as a traditional fighting force. We're seeing them more as a factor to disrupt the Dark Lord's control. When we approach a city, they will have a choice. Surrendering and avoiding a sack, or attempting to fight and dealing with bombardment and internal uprisings at the same time.'

'And my niece, my lord Malfoy?'

'Madam Yseult is aiding our cause as we speak, Minister Morreau. Surely you read her letter?'

'Yes, of course, but my wife and I…our poor Yseult.'

'We're doing everything we can to get Yseult home safely' said the tsarina. 'She's a very brave and determined girl, Minister.'

'Of course she is, Majesty.' He hunched further into his chair, once proud moustaches drooping sadly. Arthur wondered how sad he'd been when he'd sold his niece like a block of cheese.

'Our activities at Hogwarts are vital to our overall success.'

'Majesty?'

'Minister Weasley?'

'Is there any word on the feasibility of evacuating the child-hostages?'

Her smile made him aware, uncomfortably, that he was waiting for his wife to return, and that he was the same age as her father. 'The wolves are working on it, and the elves we've secreted in the school itself.'

'And Lady Henrietta's baby?'

The smile lost some of its sparkle. 'Hopefully the elves can bring him or her to Uncle Desmond at Durmstrang.'

'We will make offering for you.' It was all he could give them, the hopes the Weasley ancestors would help the innocent child who'd done nothing to anyone. Who'd not had the chance to do anything yet.

'Thank you, please do.'

Molly came back in, sans children, sans puppies, and sat down. The work of planning the invasion in earnest began.

Desmond Feathering himself—and Moody, who sometimes visited like a next-door neighbour—was pensive. The teachers had returned that afternoon and he was dining with them and their wives, the ones who had them.

Hetty's absence was like an open sore. One couldn't help but poke at it, even as it should be left alone to heal. The Potions teacher, a morose Finn called Ovaska, had been mostly silent throughout dinner and then, as the coffee was being served, finally spoke.

'Desmond?'

'Yes, Jukka?'

'I'm sorry about…things.'

'Thank you. I am as well.'

'The boys will ask. What would you have us tell them?'

Desmond/Moody was aware that the others had quieted. Better, he thought, to get things out in the open this way, for all that Jukka had probably done it because he'd been drinking the Arithmancy teacher's incredibly potent cider all evening.

'The truth. My wife is being held hostage due to the Dark Lord's foreign policy or lack thereof. Hopefully she'll be home soon and the baby as well.'

'Madam Feathering is a great favourite amongst them, you know.'

'I do. She is a very kind lady.' And the only woman on campus during the school year, but he didn't say that part.

The elf announced Malfoy with exactly enough time for the assembled to jump to their feet as the second-most powerful man in their world walked in. He looked exhausted, deep purple circles under his eyes and a thin down of stubble on his cheeks.

He bowed. 'Uncle Desmond, professors, I apologise for interrupting your dinner.'

'Not at all, your Grace. Please, let us set a place for you.'

'That would be lovely, thank you.'

He sat down next to Desmond/Moody and accepted a plate of fish and a little cider. 'Thank you. How have you been, Uncle?'

'Well, your Grace. School starts tomorrow.'

Malfoy nodded. 'Anu, you know, will not be back for the foreseeable future.'

'I spoke with his mother and stepfather. We're sending his lessons.'

'I daresay he's enough adults to oversee them now.'

The professors made their excuses and soon only the two men were left. Malfoy took a deep breath and set down his fork.

'How are you really, Uncle?'

'Tired, lad. Any news of your aunt?'

'I've a letter here for you. She is well and the baby too.'

'Boy or girl? Does she know yet?'

'No, not yet.'

Not for the first time, Desmond/Moody wondered about the irony of things, that Lucius Malfoy's son and heir was coming to him for advice, or something like it. The lad was looking at the fire in a glazed, tired way.

'You've married Kask's sister.'

'Vaike, yes.'

'How do you find being wed?'

'Very nice. We love one another very much.'

Desmond/Moody drank some of his own cider. 'I'm glad to hear that. How is it in Sofia?'

Malfoy sighed gustily, head still down. 'It's awful. Waiting for it to come.'

'The aurors?'

'I don't know how they'll do on the field of battle, but by God I'm afraid of them.'

Desmond/Moody's lips quirked upward. 'Oh?'

Malfoy sipped cider and then gasped, eyes watering. 'Is it grain alchohol?'

'No, it's Professor Fiers' private brew.'

'No wonder he's so bloody relaxed all the time. Sorry, Uncle.'

Desmond/Moody snorted, shaking his head. 'That's why he teaches Arithmancy. Anything else might cause him to need to use magic.'

Malfoy stared at him incredulously a second and then started to laugh. 'What? No!'

'For true, lad. How are you feeling about all this, really?'

Malfoy was still staring disconcertingly at the fire. Desmond/Moody had seen that look before on trainee-aurors who'd seen too much too soon, and whose minds had turned on them. Malfoy waited another second and then blinked.

'I hear them in my sleep. Screaming, screaming every time I close my eyes.'

'Is this mind healer helping?'

'No. He doesn't quite…he's never seen this before, I think. He doesn't know what to say when I tell him things.'

'Tell me, then.'

Malfoy shook his head. 'No use. It won't help.'

'Like hell it won't. Haven't I seen as bad, or worse?'

'I've never wanted to ask.'

'Well, I have. You aren't alone, lad, unless you choose to be.'

'Did Sirius tell you about that?'

'Sirius is smart and so am I. Now, about these dreams…'

They talked late into the night, and Desmond/Moody finally got the lad bullied into the spare bedroom just after midnight. He sat in his chair and sipped more cider, wondering if he was losing his mind.

No, he thought, needs must is needs must. He sent an elf to be sure the man would be awake. He suspected he would be; Azkaban tended to give one insomnia once one was outside, and he suspected Lucius wouldn't be sleeping all that well anyhow. Not with the war weeks away and his son suffering.

The fire went green and Lucius Malfoy's head appeared in it. 'Hello, Desmond.'

Desmond/Moody—just Desmond?—rose and sat so the two were at eye-level. I spent ten years trying to have you put away forever, he thought, and then set to business.

'Draco is here with me, Lucius.'

'Is he all right?'

'You tell me.'

Lucius seemed to draw in on himself. 'He is not well in his mind. He is…'

'I know.'

'Did he say something?'

'Not as such. He's…the nightmares are picking up again.'

'I suspected they would. What can we do, Desmond?'

Desmond settled back. He'd always hated Lucius Malfoy's viewpoints, what he represented, the way he treated others. But Lucius was not the point here, was he? Whether or not Alastor Moody might have chosen this for himself, Desmond Feathering would be damned before he left a teenager alone in this, let alone a nephew, and doubly damned before he'd abandon a comrade in arms.

'Wish I knew.'

Lucius pursed his lips, and Desmond realised he was trying not to weep. 'My son…'

'We can be there for him.'

'Yes. There is that.'

'Come have a drink?'

'I'll be there in an hour.'

So Desmond Feathering and Alastor Moody both stood up and prepared to receive his nemesis and sort-of-brother-in-law to discuss the man's heir and the two men's nephew and student, who was not well.

Will wonders, reflected the men sharing a body, never cease?


	83. Chapter 83

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers**

**Finals time, gang. And then I'm done! Hope everyone is well :)**

Rabastan Lestrange jiggled his son lightly and said 'Penko? Darling, I am so sorry.'

Penko was at his desk. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, breathing. 'I am as well, but sorrier for Viktor.'

'Is there anything I might do, or Eugenia?'

'No. I think not, just be there for him. For them.'

Rabastan held out Edric and Penko took him, snuggling the baby against his chest as Rabastan leant over him and gently rubbed his lover's neck. It was a mass of knots and crackled as he rubbed.

'Martin would want it this way, I think, but I can't get passed the idea that we're somehow…we're selling him, and Zhivka.'

Rabastan made a sympathetic noise and kept rubbing. Sirius thought they could bring the bodies back to Sofia, and the interment was to be the start of the ceremony that would officially install Hermione and Viktor as rulers of the largest Wizarding Empire since Alexander the Great.

'So we have the interment in the cathedral, then the mass, then the crowning and the official signing of the documents, and then the procession back to the Ministry.'

Rabastan made another noise and rubbed a bit harder. Penko leant against him, sighing, and snuggled the baby, who cheered, waving at Rabastan. 'Daddy!'

'Hello, darling. Where's Mummy?'

'Hermy!'

'That's right, Mummy is with Hermione! Well done!'

Edric cheered again and then sobered. 'Rada?'

'Soon, darling. Rada will be back at school very soon.'

Edric squinted skeptically and patted Penko's face with his hand. Penko smiled and held him a bit closer, humming a little as the baby settled to play with the frogs on his tunic.

'It sounds like it will be a historic day, my love.'

'It shall, I'm sure of it. I just wish…' Penko didn't finish because Rabastan knew what he meant. He reached up to lace his fingers with Rab's and the two stood together quietly, thinking.

'I don't believe, Penko, I have told you how sorry I am about your brother.'

'Thank you. Martin was lost to us years ago, when Zhivka died. In some ways I feel like I have grieved him already and this is…how awful…just another thing to be done.'

'Viktor?'

'He hasn't said much. He didn't want Zhivka moved, but he acknowledged this might be the most reasonable course.'

'Poor lad.'

Penko bounced Edric a bit. 'He will be a good tsar.'

'I agree.'

'What will you do once the war is finished?'

Rabastan sat down in the chair he'd pushed next to Penko's. 'We thought we'd stay on. Edric's got school, and there's nothing to go back to there.'

'Your house still stands.'

'For now, but what's in a house except the people?'

Penko touched his hand gently. 'I am glad to hear it.'

'And the children will need help, I daresay. Perhaps we could teach aurors or something.'

'You can grow things for us.'

'I would like that.'

Zdratza came for the baby, and Penko handed him over. They were alone. Rabastan sat still, waiting for his lover to initiate things, to see what Penko wanted in light of events. Penko sat, head in hands a moment.

'I take it you mean to fight when the invasion starts?'

'I do.'

'So do I. Rumen is staying behind but I've insisted on going this time.'

'I understand. Will you fly?'

'No, on the ground. You shan't be rid of me so easily, Rabastan.'

'I don't wish to ever be rid of you, love.'

'I'm glad to hear that.'

'Are you afraid?'

'No. If it is my fate to die, then nothing will avert it.'

'I feel the same.'

'Eugenia seems to think you were most fierce at Hogwarts.'

Rabastan snorted and carefully took his lover's hand. 'Darling heart, if I am to die, it won't be because the likes of those men killed me, if I've any say in the matter. Falling to someone like Trixie or Snape would not be so bad, but one couldn't trust a Travers or an Avery not to make a botch of it.'

'Quite.'

'People seem to think of me as an incidental member of the Inner Circle, but I did have to earn that place.'

'Taught me everything I know.'

'Well, not everything.'

Penko stood and gestured to the couch. 'Perhaps we might sit down?'

They did. His lover smelt of massacar oil and exhaustion. Penko nestled against him, clearly craving affection rather than more earthy delights. Rabastan was happy to obliged, and stroked his back, murmuring comfortingly.

'You know, I'm not sure I've ever told you about how it was when I was young. Martin was the best brother I could have asked for, and Rumen. I was so fortunate in them. I wish that could be what Viktor recalled, not the squalid end of things.'

'Surely he does.'

'Those are a child's memories.'

'He's got you to remind him.'

'Yes. Did I ever tell you about the times we went skating at night?'

'I don't think you did.'

Rabastan sat with his lover as they grieved a man who had died to them long before, a man very different than the pale and silent ghost who'd finally left the body the wolves would risk their lives to retrieve.

The wolves themselves were currently at that very task. With them was Rita, who was bringing them news almost daily, and looking quite well for a woman in constant mortal danger. Nicolae Pavel winked and she winked back, quite saucily, and then looked up, and up, at Galvin Goyle.

'The centaurs, you say?'

'Aye' said Goyle stolidly, and nothing else. Rita seemed unfazed by his lack of affect and tipped her head, tongue darting out to touch the bow of her upper lip. Nicolae could smell himself on her, and her desire for him, and it was hard to resist the urge to act on that second one.

Arco smirked, raising a brow, and Nicolae shot him a warning glare, and an implied threat involving hanging him upside down from a tree for a few hours to see if that cured this insolent attitude.

'_Shut up'_ he hissed at his second, who grinned and murmured something in Romanian that made Pavel snort despite himself and shove him down, pouncing to pin him. Arco laughed and squirmed, full of energy and eager to do something.

Rita and Goyle ignored the horseplay. She was still staring at him. 'What can I do, though?'

'Dunno. Maybe they'll listen to a woman if they won't to a man.'

'Well, I'll be glad to go, Galvin, and give what help I might.'

'All right.'

Pavel was glad it had worked out, even as he pressed the writhing, snorting Arco into the damp black earth and lightly squeezed one of his knees. Eugen gasped, laughing, and went limp. '_Yield!_'

'_That's what I thought._'

Eugen was still laughing when they embraced and checked one another over. Pavel rolled his eyes but kindly and made sure his second, such an odd combination of ferocity and timidity, was all right.

'_Your birthday is next month, isn't it_?'

'_Mmm hmmm._' Arco frowned at a bruise forming on Pavel's arm and Pavel waved off his concern. It wasn't from him, and it was just a little one, relatively speaking.

'_Twenty, is it_?'

'_Yes'_ said Arco, who'd joined at sixteen. Pavel sometimes felt a little like Eugen was his cub, someone to be cuffed and cared for at various times. Eugen stiffened at a noise and whirled back round when it was only a squirrel.

'Are you sure, Ree?'

'Someone has to, Nicolae. And we can Apparate if it gets too unfriendly.'

Pavel nodded. 'If it looks like things are going wrong, pull out. We need you both.'

She pecked his cheek and then followed Goyle into the dark of the forest, their wands for light. Pavel watched until he couldn't see them anymore, and then went back to his men.

Arco, all business now, was speaking urgently to Sorin and Vasile. '_You're sure, now?'_

'_We're sure, Arco.'_

'_Sure about what?'_

Sorin gestured at the castle, distant by some five kilometres. _'There's movement. They're dispatching a raiding party of some kind, best as we can tell.'_

'_Tell how, Sorin? Did they post a sign?'_

Sorin shook his head. '_We heard Amycus say they were leaving at midnight. Might have been wolves, but it could've been cloaks, too.'_

Pavel felt faintly stupid. _'Sorry, that might have been a bit harsh. What I meant was what did you see and hear?'_

'_Amycus, Greyback, the younger Mcnair and another few—I think Aimery?'_

'_Avery.'_

'_A little one I didn't know, or Vasile. Short, wide, seemed nervous.'_

'_Pettigrew, possibly. I'll ask Rita to check that when we get back.'_

The two scouts nodded. _'So what do we do, Nicolae?'_

'_Get ten men. We're following.'_

The rest of the group—one of six spread about Scotland at the moment—was falling silent. '_Pavel?_'

'_We need information. Choose the ten and come back. Eugen, wait for Galvin and Rita to come back.'_

Pavel raised his head and inhaled. Autumn was upon them, and the moon above their heads was a ripe crescent, waxing to fullness within a day or two. He could feel the hunt inside him, and it was good.

Vaike thought so. She tugged her shawl more tightly about her shoulders and hefted little Paavo, who snuggled against her neck and gave her a gentle nip on the shoulder. 'Vaike? Drago?'

'Working on his papers, sweetheart. Want to find him with me?'

Little Paavo lifted his head and sniffed the air. 'Tha way.'

She followed the boy's nose to her husband, who was sorting papers. 'Hello, Drago.'

'Hello, darling. And Little Paavo! How are you, love?'

Little Paavo adored Drago almost as much as Big Paavo and Father Malfoy. He squirmed to get down, gave Drago a friendly hello bite, and settled down when the secretary elf handed him a pencil and some parchments to scribble on.

'How is it?'

Drago gestured to the paper. 'Damned—whoops—coronation is giving me grey hair. Order of precedence my ar—foot.'

'Wasn't Luan going to handle that?'

'He was but Enver started wheezing again. Luan's making sure he stays in bed.'

Vaike chuckled evilly. 'Send some children down.'

'Already did. He's too piled to move properly, and Luan is busy teaching them all their ABCs.'

'In English?'

'For now. Once they've got permanent…it's easy to teach a child two languages.'

'That's what they say.' Little Paavo was making baroque scribbles on the paper, giggling whilst he did it, the elf admiringly giving commentary about his efforts.

'Malfoy, I—hello, Vaike. Paavo, come see.' Big Paavo's stick announced him before he actually came back in. He squatted and Little Paavo leapt up happy-growling and ran to hug his neck.

'Paavo! Paavo!'

'Hello, mate. What are you up to?'

'Draw.'

'How nice. May I have these?'

'Yes! Nap?'

'Later, all right? We need to check on Luan and Enver first.'

Little Paavo beamed. 'Damn it, Vata!'

'Who taught you that?'

Little Paavo pointed. 'Drago.'

'When?'

'Morning.'

'I see. Malfoy, I leave you with the kid five minutes and you manage to teach him profanity?'

'Shut up before I seat you between Morreau and that awful fellow from Belarus.'

'You're married to my sister.'

'Yes, but I actually like her.'

Little Paavo suddenly frowned. 'Need to go.'

'Would you mind, Blixo?'

The elf took off toward the WC with Little Paavo, both of them having a grand time. Paavo sank down, irritably twisting his bad ankle to make the joint pop. 'I don't care, I'm not wearing that stupid prosthesis.'

'All right, don't.'

He shook his head, clearly working on something. Vaike leant over and, making sure there were no children about, smacked the back of his head. 'Out with it, Paavo!'

'Ouch! The hell was that for?'

'You're up to something. Out with it!'

He glowered. 'I'm not up to something. I'm concerned.'

'With what? Has the supply of bad women on Tsarina Ana street dried up, no pun intended?'

'Vaike!' Gasped Drago, pink-cheeked. Both twins snorted and then kept right on arguing as they always had.

'No.'

'What, then?'

'They're talking about permanent homes. For the kids.'

'That's bad?'

'No, of course it's not bad. It's just…'

'Little Paavo.'

'Right.'

'Paavo, he needs a proper home. This isn't a place for children.'

'Don't I know that?'

'It's not like you can't visit him.'

'Or' said Drago very quietly 'take him yourself.'

Both twins turned to stare at him. 'What?'

'Malfoy, I'm eighteen!'

'And an arse! Don't give him a child, he'll warp the poor little bloke!'

'Shut up, Vaike!'

'You shut up!'

'Both of you stop it. Look, he's bonded to you, that much is obvious. You could move into a flat here like Scabior and his wife. The elves could watch him whilst you worked, or the older people. We could expedite the process so that the papers could be signed tonight, or tomorrow.'

Paavo blinked, shocked. 'I don't have a wife.'

'So? It's not like there aren't women about to give him affection. Vaike and my cousin, Alise Scabior, my mother and aunts.'

Vaike touched her twin's shoulder. 'I didn't mean it, Paavo. You'd be a good father to him. He loves you.'

'I know. I don't feel ready. What if I fuck it up? See, I can't stop swearing.'

'Nobody's ready, mate. And we can help remind you.'

Blixo was bringing Little Paavo back. 'I did it!'

'Good bloke, good bloke. Paavo, would you like to stay with me?'

'Rounds?'

'Yes, we'll do the rounds together. But I mean forever.'

'Forever?'

'Yes.'

Little Paavo looked patient. 'Yes.' He clamoured onto Paavo's lap and hugged his neck. 'Stay with Pack.'

'No. I mean, yes, but join our family. I'd adopt you.'

'Dopt?'

Drago grunted. 'This is your daddy now, Little Paavo.'

'Daddy?'

'Isa, our word is Isa.'

'You explain it, then.'

Paavo touched the boy's chin with a kind of care Vaike had only rarely seen from him. 'We're a Pack now, you and I. D'you see?'

Little Paavo cocked his head. 'Yes. Enver?'

'And Enver, yes.'

'Costin?'

'And Costin.'

'Vaikedrago?'

'Yes.'

'Mioneviktor?'

'Yes.'

'Lise? Lemndora?'

'All of them.'

'Pack?'

'Our Pack.'

'Pack!' He leapt up and danced a bit, giggling. 'Pack! Pack!'

Paavo rose slowly, leaning on his stick. 'Let's find Krum. Viktor. The tall quiet one, and see if he'll sign the papers.'

'Pack! Paavos Pack!'

'Paavo's Pack, that's right.'

'I think' said Drago seriously 'he said "Paavos" not "Paavo's". Because there are two of you.'

'How could you—never mind. Tell Aunt Vaike and Uncle Drago bye bye, we're off to see the tsar.'

The two Paavos left at a rapid, happy clip. 'Well, that's that. Poor Ema will be beside herself.'

'Why?'

'I've got married and Paavo's got a kid all in the span of what, a month or less?'

'Thereabouts. I'm taking a break with this for right now.'

'Nap?'

'Nap!'

He slid an arm about her waist and they started toward the rooms they used whilst they were here. Not for much longer, as the tsar and tsarina would be moving to somewhere else as soon as a suitable place was located.

'Any word on the palace idea?'

'Viktor is very much opposed to building anything new, and Hermione doesn't want to either. They're thinking one of the old houses near the cathedral. Us too, likely. If you're amenable.'

'I'm happy at Castle Borev.'

'So am I, but it might seem more suitable if we had our own household.'

'I'm tired of suitable.'

'Me, too.' He kissed the side of her head and then both whipped round as the clamour upstairs started. They sprang apart and took off at a run, wand drawn. The courtyard was roiling as a small stream of wolves appeared, two bound and Silenced prisoners in the middle.

The children were standing round them, silent, intent, watching like owls. Vaike saw the boy Bojan raise a hand for quiet. 'Alpha?'

'Prisoners for the tsar and tsarina, children.'

'Greyback's men?'

'Yes, that's right.'

Hermione was coming through the other door, Viktor beside her. 'Mr. Pavel?'

'Prisoners, Majesty, two of Greyback's boys.'

'Take them downstairs. Children, find something to do, please.'

One of the prisoners raised his head and opened his mouth in a soundless snarl. The effect was immediate. The children pulled together, snarling back, the ferals up front and ready to spring.

'Downstairs.'

Vaike cracked her knuckles. 'I'm not that tired, are you?'

'Never felt more awake in my life, love.'

They went back inside and down the stairs to the basement, hand in hand.


	84. Chapter 84

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes (who, incidentally, is now my roommate in real life), CB and reviewers.**

**I'm done with university!**

**I would really, really like to hear from people a bit more. I understand how difficult this time of year is, but once things calm down, it would be keen to hear what you're all thinking.**

Anu was almost sleeping when he felt someone gently lean over him and tug the book out of his limp hand. 'Mmm?'

'Lie down, Anu.'

'Hello, Baba.'

'Shhh.'

Anu blinked, rubbing his eyes. 'What time is it?'

'Well after midnight. What were you doing?'

'Had to look something up.'

Baba Sirius bent over and looked. 'Dementors? Just some light reading, kiddo?'

Anu rubbed his eyes a bit more. 'No, Baba. When the fleet goes to Dimnes, I'm going with it.'

Baba looked away for a moment. 'To fight Dementors?'

'Someone has to.'

'Need it be you?'

'It's that or Sunderlund, Baba.'

'True enough. Are you afraid when you think about it?'

Anu considered. 'Afraid of fighting? Not very much. Afraid of mucking it up? Very.'

'How so?'

Anu sat up a bit more fully. 'I'm afraid I don't know enough.'

'Have you talked to Viktor about it?'

'Tomorrow.'

'Good fellow. Now go to bed, hmmm?'

'Yes, sir.' Anu rolled over, savouring the sensation of being tucked in. On his other side, Ivan burrowed closer, murmuring, and Goose snorted from under the covers. Baba snorted too, patting the dog's bedclothes-covered back before he blew out the candle. Anu was asleep before the door had closed the whole way.

It was almost dinner before Anu could get a moment with Viktor. It was Sunday, so no training, but everything was moving quickly now. He finally found Viktor with the dogs, playing with the puppies in the small yard that had been made a kennel for the dogs that lived at the Ministry with them.

'Is everything all right, Anu?'

'Yes, Viktor. Just wanted to talk to you.'

'About what?'

Anu sat down as puppies swarmed his lap, wagging and licking. He wrinkled his nose, feeling vaguely guilty for letting haram animals get their saliva on him. Well, he could wash.

'I'm worried about the fleet.'

'How so?'

'I just don't know enough. I'm scared I'll make some awful mistake.'

Viktor gently batted a puppy away from chewing on his boot. 'Well, Anu, I think it's reasonable for you to have concerns. You're thirteen. I worry that something will happen to you. But I don't worry about you. The captains are all very pleased with your progress.'

Anu grinned, heat creeping up his neck and warming his ears. 'Thank you. I mean, I'm glad. But could we—I do want to go—but perhaps we could make it so—so there's some kind of—'Acknowledgment that some people have more experience?'

'Yes.'

'I was thinking perhaps we could call your captains and explain the situation. How would you feel if we had it set up so that they would have final say? You'll help plan routes and the order of battle formations but they'd have emergency override power during a battle.'

'I think so.'

'I think so too.'

'Captain Magnusson is very good. Captain Iversen and Captain Nilsen.'

'All right, that's whom we'll call. Have you been working on the route and things?'

'I have.'

Anu sent an elf for his maps and charts and showed the route he'd penciled in. 'The way I figure, the fleet will go overland for most of the trip to avoid internal waters. This is all either Imperial airspace or allied airspace, so we don't need to worry about word getting back. Ideally.'

'Ideally' agreed Viktor, and encouraged him with a smile to continue. Anu did.

'We'll stop at Durmstrang to take on the aurors and have the see-off. The fleet will head over France and toward Calais, and then split just past Dover. Dimnes Fleet will head for the North Sea and Sunderland Fleet will head for the mainland, through this passage.' Anu pointed to an old shipping lane.

'They'll expect us here' he pointed to a different, more widely-used lane 'because the North Sea is choppy and gusty this time of year. Captain Magnusson says that means we should go directly down the shipping lane and approach Dimnes from the port side.'

'Good, what next?'

'The dragons.'

Viktor sat back on his heels. 'The dragons.'

'The Romanians will be with us, it will be all right.'

'Do you have any ideas about getting the dragons there? They're not tame by any stretch, Anu.'

'I know. Hermione will have to come with us. They'll follow her if they follow anyone.'

Viktor picked up a puppy and kissed it's silky head. 'I thought you might say that.'

'I've an idea, too, about the dragons.'

'Oh?'

'Could we call the captains and everyone to discuss things?'

'A very good idea. Shall we bring puppies?'

'Of course.'

So, trailed by six happy puppies, they went to work out the actual invasion, a ship at a time.

Crookshanks, true ruler of Bulgaria and everywhere else, flicked his tail and turned neatly, his train of wolf-kits following. He stopped and sniffed the air, zeroing in on a scent. He thought…there!

The wolf-kits were quiet and intent as they watched him crouch lower and keep sniffing to find the trace. He hunched, sensing his prey was near, and bunched, muscles coiled like a spring. His tail was slowly sweeping behind him, and then…there it was!

His Girl threw the felt mousie and Crooks sprang, body a streak of muscle and fur as he dove for it and came up victorious, stuffed prey in his teeth. The wolf-kits clapped, cheering and growling pleasedly, and Crookshanks, the victorious hunter, brought the mousie to his Girl to be fussed over lavishly and thrown again.

'Brave Crookshanks! You are so clever, aren't you?'

Crookshanks rose on his bandy back legs to rub his musk on her chin and cheeks. The wolf-kits sat round them, sniffing and yowling to one another. The Girl nuzzled him straight back, murmuring comfortingly to him.

Crookshanks perceived a familiar presence and turned bottle-brush tail quirking. Minnie! He walked to her, head high, and they sniffed, exchanging scent as the dogs came to meet the quean about whom Crookshanks had told them so much.

I have missed you, he told her, licking her eyebrows lightly, and she snorted, rubbing her head to his chin.

Your Girl, Minnie said gravely, how is she?

Well enough, Crookshanks told her as he cleared his throat to sing a welcome, but not sleeping enough. And too thin.

Minnie thought so as well. She gave Crookshanks a final gentle swipe of her tongue and went fearlessly to the Girl, parting the wolf-kits like reeds, Crookshanks and his pack of dogs trailing behind.

'Professor?'

Minnie changed into a Woman as she was wont to do. 'Miss—Madam—Majesty, I am here to help if you would have me.'

'We would love to. Please, sit down.'

'I see rather more children than I was previously led to believe.'

'They're wolves, formerly of Greyback's band.'

'I see.'

Some of the bigger, angrier wolf-kits were approaching. 'Is this old woman yours, girl-alpha?'

'Professor McGonagall was my teacher when I was young, Bojan, and I would appreciate your treating her with respect.'

'She must be ancient.' Bojan-kit smelt like he admired this, and the others as well. Minnie smelt as though she were trying hard not to laugh, and so did the Girl.

'Not ancient, young man, but some days I quite feel like it.'

'I'm sorry, Professor, that was not polite of Bojan.'

'Why not? She is.'

'Girl-alpha, she does smell old.' A female spoke up, more softly than Bojan-kit had.

'Enough! All of you find something to do.'

'This is something.' The kits sat down, watching and guarding, and the Girl groaned softly. Minnie smelt like she was about to lose the laugh-battle, so Crookshanks took the chance to dart over and rub against her boots, purring.

'Crooks, the Professor can't marry you.'

'Quite right, Crookshanks, quite right.'

'Girl-alpha, we just want to learn from the old woman. If she taught you, she must know things we could use.'

'She does, definitely. Right now, though, it's nearly afternoon snack, so why don't you watch the little ones whilst Professor McGonagall and I go and have a walk?'

Crookshanks, of course, followed briskly, tail flicking. The Girl remembered herself and bent to pick him up, carrying him against her chest. 'Professor?'

'Majesty, Arthur seems to think I could be of some use. I am rather good at Transfiguration, you know.'

'I do know. What did he tell you?'

'You need to get the dragons to Dimnes, is that correct?'

'It is.'

'He seems to think some ideas are being bandied about as regards the old fleet.'

'The practice fleet, yes.'

'The Egyptians are helping with things?'

'They are, but we can always use more help.'

Minnie nodded, smelling well-satisfied. 'I should like that very much.'

'How are you, Professor? Besides that?'

'I would like to see Scotland again before I die.'

'You aren't going to die, Professor. You look fit as a fiddle.'

Minnie reached up to scratch Crookshanks' head. 'I am seventy-eight years old, child. I am so tired, I cannot even tell you.'

'Is it all right…' The Girl smelt tentative. Crooks raised his tufty head and nudged her, demanding to know the problem with one of his flat blatting miaows. She reached up to scratch his neck absently, clearly elsewhere mentally.

'Yes?'

'The day Hogwarts fell.'

'If you would like.'

'I don't want to distress you.'

'The same.'

'I'm fine, Professor.'

'You look terrible. What have you been eating?'

Crooks blatted again. Didn't he tell her the same? He snorted and burrowed into her, protecting her, wishing he could get her to lie down so she would relax and sleep a little.

'The usual. We're not getting much rest, unfortunately. After the invasion is over—'

'Will be too late if you refuse to take care of yourself.'

'Yes, Professor. My parents tell me the same thing.'

'It doesn't surprise me. What did you want to know?'

'Your impressions, I suppose. I don't remember…I do remember, but it makes me anxious.'

'I do not blame you. I regret, child, that I could not have done more for you all.'

'Harry…he must have been in Harry for some time. The Dark Lord.'

Minnie made a small hurt noise. 'That has occurred to me.'

'Dumbledore didn't know.'

'He was not omnipotent, child.'

'Harry was so happy to be there. At Hogwarts.'

'He was a good boy.'

The Girl smelt like she hurt too. Crookshanks rubbed her neck with his mouth, making his own worried little grumble. What was bothering her, and could he not scare it away?

'About these dragons, Miss—Majesty.'

'Yes, Professor?'

'What precisely is the plan? It is my understanding that you've some sort of bond with them now?'

'Something like that, and we aren't quite sure. We have a plan to deal with the Dementors, but it's contingent on finding a way to get the dragons there. That was what we're hoping you might help us with.'

Minnie sighed quietly, and smelt satisfied as well as sad. 'A student of mine, working dragon magic! If it was anyone, it would have been yourself. Or Lily, I suppose.'

'Lily? Harry's mother?'

'Lily Evans, that's right. She was very bright, and very kind. She would have liked you very much.'

The Girl held Crookshanks almost too tightly for a second and then relented. 'Thank you.'

'This plan?'

The Girl sat down like her legs wouldn't hold her. 'Yes. Yes, the plan.'

'Is everything all right, Miss G—Majesty?'

'Fine, Professor. Just a bit dizzy. Our plan thus far is this…'

Snape was to meet the dog at midnight, and like an idiot had let the fool choose it. So here he was, shivering under a tree in a clearing a few kilometres outside Godric's Hollow, cursing the dog with every breath which showed in the air.

'Snape.'

'Took you long enough. What's the signal?'

Black's mouth tightened and he let out a disgusted puff of air. ' Salazar is a bad dog. Have I mentioned lately how much I hate you?'

'I assume it's a sort of background noise to your thoughts, if you've got any.'

'Shut up.'

Snape cast the requisite wards and protections and sat down. 'Well?'

'They graduated the first class yesterday and got the new one today. Anu's planned some exhibition for the coronation and a parade.'

'What else?'

'Everyone is settling in and sends their usual feelings. Especially Trixie. She looked extra maniacal when I asked, so she must be planning to hex you or something.'

'Was Rodolphus there? It's usually him she's planning to hex.'

'Might have been. What did you need to see me about?'

'We have to free your brother.'

'Do we? And here I'd forgot.'

'Have you got any ideas?'

Black conjured a chair and sat down. 'I have not. You?'

'We could have Ismaili find a ritual. It must exist someplace.'

'Or ask Grindelwald.'

'True. What's your preference?'

Black thought for a minute. 'I still wish we could get Peter, but if it doesn't happen then we'll just have to find some other way to destroy the little bastard. I suppose we should ask Grindelwald and Luan both to find something.'

'All right.'

Black stood up. 'Come back with me to Sofia.'

'Just like that? Let me tell my valet I'm not in socially and we'll be off.'

'It would mean a lot to Hermione for you to be there for the coronation.'

Snape grunted. 'Silly child.'

'They brought the bodies back last night.'

'Ah.'

'It's three days from now. She wants you to be there for her that day.'

'Did she say so?'

'She didn't have to.'

Snape grunted again, knowing he would go if it was important to the girl that he be there. Black said nothing for a little while, letting him debate to himself.

'She's well, though, the girl?'

'She's exhausted. All of them are.'

'But well?'

'Yes, well enough. Anu's covered in bruises and two inches taller since June. He misses you too.'

'Is he doing his lessons?'

'Obsessively. I actually had to take a book away from him the other night so he'd sleep.'

Snape gave a single grudging nod. 'Good boy.'

'What I said. Will you? Come?'

'I suppose a few days wouldn't hurt. To check on them.'

'No' said Black. 'We'll bring back the—objects—and then destroy them.'

'Have you figured out how?'

'No, but if we're visiting Grindelwald we might as well ask.'

'True enough.'

Black shuffled. 'Take a walk with me?'

'To where?'

'They've never cleaned it up. The house. I want to visit it a final time.'

Snape shook his head, mouth opening, and then his tongue betrayed him, because it said 'Yes. All right.'

The two of them crept along in the moonlight, the light crust of early snow crunching under their feet. The moon, full and very bright, shone down, turning the world to silver and salt, glistening like tears.

The house was a ruin. The roof was falling in, the door still blasted from where the Dark Lord had forced himself inside that fateful night. Black approached fearlessly, head back, but as he used his wand to push some rubble aside Snape could see he was shaking a little.

The stairs were still standing, and inexorably, Snape's feet led him up behind Black. The room was like it had been left. A stray teddy bear, missing an eye, lay on the floor, arms stretched as if in supplication. It looked as if it's single eye had seen much evil, lying there in the house that was a tomb all these years, and probably it had. Snape saw Black touch it reverently.

'I gave him that for his birthday. He loved that bear.'

'You've never been inside, Black?'

'No. I wanted…it seemed right we do it together.'

Snape backed out of the awful room and sat in the corridor, head against his knees. He'd found her lying there, beautiful and dead. Her long hair, draping over his arm as her head had lolled back, face faintly blue, blood starting to pool, eyes glazed…

Snape stood up and started down the stairs, needing to get out, blind with it, the need to shut out what had happened, what he had done. The blood was pounding in his head, and Snape could feel the smoked fish and cheese fighting their way up his gullet. He managed to get just outside the door before he threw up.

Black was waiting, and he said nothing. He offered a flask of water and no commentary, and then Snape said softly 'Let's…I would not remember her—them—this way. Would you?'

'No.'

The graveyard. Snape found it easier here, because Lily no more laid below the earth than he did. Lily, her kindness, her gentleness, her care for others, still lived. Everything important about her, everything which had caused him to love her, was still with them. Lily herself was with them, with him, and when he needed her he felt her, far from this place where her mortal remains rested under the frozen ground, waited until the day they would meet again and he could beg her forgiveness.

The stone looked nice, he thought distantly, modest but well-made, crafted carefully. He touched it, hand burning from the cold of it, frozen like the earth. Dead, like Lily. His fault. His.

Snape dropped his head and breathed. Thought of the girl, the things in her that were Lily's, that could have been theirs had he not made such a monumental blunder. How foolish, how selfish he had been. How impossible, what he'd asked of her, to forget her child. How stupid the arrogant assurance of youth, and how dearly so many people had paid.

He felt her hand, and in his ear a voice clear and sweet. 'Sev.'

He jerked upright, looking. He could smell her, apple blossom shampoo and some kind of oil she'd smeared on her wrists and clavicle. It had been green, he remembered, the oil. He bit his lips, refusing to weep in front of Black, and the tears still burnt his eyes, still made him hurt. He hurt.

Black touched his sleeve. 'Look.'

A doe was standing in the tree-line, a delicate young doe with a neck like a queen's and huge, liquid eyes. Snape froze, wondering if this was a sign of some kind, the hairs on the nape of his neck prickling like needles.

The doe watched him another moment and then lowered her head, unafraid. Snape felt the shock of it up his spine, and that decided him. He tugged his sleeve away from Black and called Kreacher.

'What are you waiting for, Black?'

'Sorry?'

'We'll need to hurry if we want to be in Sofia by dinner.'

Lily had spoken. He must see to the girl, their girl. That wasn't enough, not nearly enough to make up for his dreadful sin, his besetting crime against her, but it was a start. The two men vanished, and the doe, startled by the noise, turned and fled into the forest, white tail like a beacon to guide others home.


	85. Chapter 85

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed. It heartened me greatly :)**

**Special congratulations to Snape's Wife to Be on the arrival of her little stranger :D**

**Here's to hoping everyone had a pleasant holiday season and a prosperous, stress-free year to come.**

Lemuel Scabior knew he had them when the big fellow in the back spat black on the floor and said 'Yer fulla shit, you are.'

'Me? Naw, friend, naw. Look ere.'Scabior found this part of things the most effective; he reached into his pockets and began to dump the contents into Jos's flat wool cap. His pocket watch, his leather wallet stamped with the seal that gave him nearly unlimited power, his comb, his small packet of letters from Alise, his pictures of his wife and goddaughter, a picture of he and Flower and Krum, all smiling at the camera, taken during his wedding.

It was the coins, he thought, that got them. Ten of them, gold, stamped in Bulgarian and bearing the double eagle and dog of House Krum on the reverse side. Carrying them was an awful risk, but it was an excellent tool to persuade the people he wanted to reach, and even as he watched hands were lifting them and biting to see if they were real, staring at the pictures, holding his watch to hear it tick.

'All this, bruthers. All this I gots because I serve the tsar an tsarina. This is jus a lil of it all.'

The crowd was quiet, absorbing this. Jos nodded at every point he made. 'Look, brothers—Lem carries more on hisself day in and day out than anything the rest of us have on us all together. Look to Eudora Rice—see how fat and pink she is?'

A few women pushed forward to squint at Dora's picture. Scabior felt his shoulders loosening as one said gravely 'Healthy, for shure. Where's er mam?'

'Fightin. Me wife's tendin er fer the nonce.'

'Why she aint fightin too, then?'

Scabior spread his hands expansively.'She will. She's the sistant to the tsarina, me wife. Has lots t do before the fightin starts proper.'

'Why she married you, then? If she's a lady?'

Scabior could feel his net tightening. 'Aint no ladies and gennelmen no more. Jus those as wud eat and those as wud starve. When the tsarina comes, she means t see us ladies and gennelmen, and so do Jos and me.'

'Ow?'

Scabior opened a letter from Alise and cleared his throat. 'Deer usband, I ope you are well and takin care a yerself. I miss you very much and so does our lil one. Our friends send sum more funds to elp you and Jos, and sum warm cloze. Please be careful and come ome safe. Yer luvin wife.'

'So?'

'Friend, I kin read. Kin you read alf s'gud as that, then? Any a you?'

Mutters and shuffling. Almost there, almost, almost…

'Naw' said one, finally. 'But what's that t do with anything? Cant everybody be ladies an gennelmen.'

'S'true, but readin is the firs step. We're gunna make schools fer all a you. Anyone oo wants t kin come to learn to read. And the nobs cant do nuthin about it if the tsarina sez s'awrite.'

'And then what?'

Jos spoke. His parents had been tradesmen, if of a lower sort, and he struggled a little with the cant that the rest were speaking. Scabior liked to tease him about it—cant was Scabior's first language, after all—but sometimes Jos's plumier, but not too plummy, tones could be a real help.

'That would be up to you. You could continue on here, if you liked, but the tsar means to see the bosses can't take advantage of you anymore.'

'Take vantage?'

Scabior spoke up. 'Yer kids'll go t school and the tsarina'll pay fer it. You'll werk but you aint gots to andle the dang'rous stuff with yer ands no more, or werk extra if the boss sez and get no pay fer it. You see?'

'Fulla shit' the bloke at the back said again. Scabior was at his side in three steps, and didn't even wait for him to swing. He lashed out with his booted foot and then brought his knee into the fellow's belly, knocking the wind out of him as he feel. Scabior brought the same foot down on the back of his head, hearing the bloke's nose break.

'Callin me a liar, mate?'

'No' the fellow said. 'Uncle, mate, uncle!'

Scabior let him up. 'Look, were I you, I'd think it were shit too. But it aint. I used t be you, bruthers. Now look at me. Married to a lady, servin a king an queen, gud food three times a day. They lets me learn t read gud. Ow many a the bosses ere wants you to learn t read gud, eh?'

'None' said one of the women.

'Damned rite. Know why?'

They shook their heads, looked tired and worn but, faintly, guardedly, hopeful.

'Because if you kin do it, it means they aint no better than you. **Because they aint. **A man kin read, he aint got to jus accept what the bosses tell im. E kin look fer imeself and decide what to b'lieve. Doan you wants that?'

'I do' said one, and then he had them for sure. Scabior caught Jos's wink and let his spine loosen with relief. This was the biggest factory in Wizarding Manchester. Where the workers in Roderick's Potions and Pills went, so would the rest of these people. His people. Him, he thought. These people were who he might have been, and who he was years ago, before Lestrange had lifted him from the gutter.

'Awrite. So let's make the Vow and we'll tells you ow to make this appen.'

So that was what they did.

Severus Snape was currently considering running off to become a hermit. Or join the muggle Foreign Legion per his original plan. That sounded pleasant right about now. He had been in Sofia for two hours and was slowly going totally insane.

Arriving, he'd been met by literally dozens of children standing about in the courtyard, led by a small blond boy who'd come over, seized his hand and sniffed him for perhaps thirty seconds as others did likewise, smelling him all over. The first child growled softly and then latched on, secreting his tiny hand in Snape's bigger one. 'Look for who?'

'I must see her Majesty first.'

'Ma'sty?'

A small corps of feral-looking children were pressing through the throng. 'He needs girl-alpha, Little Paavo.'

'Hermy?'

'That's right.' The boy tipped his head back to get Snape's measure. 'Who're you, then?'

'Severus Snape, their Majesties' spymaster.'

'Spymaster? Sounds fishy to me, brothers.' The tense little band coiled a bit more about Snape until he saw a young woman with a baby on her hip gently elbowing forward.

'I vouch for this man. Professor Snape? Alise Scabior.'

'Of course, Madam Scabior. Her Majesty?'

'Should be here any second.'

'It's all right, Bojan. Professor?'

The girl was flying toward him, arms outstretched. The children parted before her and then formed up behind as a wave. She embraced him, breathing deeply, and Snape embraced her back, dropping his head as his eyes itched slightly.

'Your Majesty. I bring word of Britain. Your cousin Black is here as well. He went to Castle Borev to greet Madam Black and Tamm.'

The girl nodded, stepping back. 'Children, this is Professor Snape. He is my godfather—a great friend to our family. Please treat him kindly.'

The mob of children all cheered enthusiastically. The blond wolf child growled again and fitted his hand back into Snape's. 'Found Hermy.'

'Indeed.'

'Pigeon?'

Hermione bent and lifted the toddler. 'No pigeons right now, Little Paavo. Professor is tired.'

'Nap?' The children abruptly froze, clearly waiting for the answer for some reason Snape could not divine. The girl shook her head gently.

'Later. Meetings now.'

The children were starting to drift away now that no nap was to be forthcoming. A Snape fell in beside the girl and the group of ferals. The boy was still studying him from the corner of his eye. Alise Scabior sidled beside him and tilted her head very slightly so Snape could see she was watching the boy.

'Yes, we're off to find your daddy and Uncle Viktor.'

'Big Paavo?' The toddler beamed and tugged Snape's hand, still locked in his own.

'That's right.'

Snape cocked his head. 'Did you mean to tell me that Kask has…?'

'Yes. Little Paavo has bonded to him, and we can certainly accommodate another child.'

The ferals flanked them as they made their way through the corridors of the Ministry. People were everywhere. Petitioners, well-wishers, grievance-criers, nobles, diplomats, merchants, inn-keepers, beggars, students, werewolves and aurors all crammed into the corridors like the world's strangest and most exotic soup.

On every side, as the girl was sighted the cry went up. 'Long live the tsarina!'

They flooded toward her, bowing, trying to touch her. The ferals froze, growling, and the girl raised her hand. 'It's all right, everyone.'

People were slowing the crush as they saw the wolf children, but a few braver souls still approached. A woman so huge with child that she seemed ready to fall over mumblingly asked the tsarina to give her baby a name; an old man had brought a basket of eggs for the children, got, he said proudly, from his best laying hens. Three painted ladies handed over a few greasy, perfumed coins to help with the war effort, and an auror with one leg wanted to see someone about his pension payments. Hermione handed Little Paavo to an older wolf-child as the Scabior woman did the same with Rice's pink-cheeked girl.

When it happened, it happened quickly. One of the people in the crowd screamed. 'He's picking my pocket!'

Snape whirled, wand raised, as aurors spilt from everywhere and waded into the crowd. Then more screams, and Snape saw the one-legged auror bring up a hand with a concealed wand in it. He snapped his wrist to swish but then Alise Scabior pounced and he pulled back fearful of hitting her until he could get better aim on the auror.

The auror's hand went limp and the wand fell, where the old man with the eggs dove for it. The would-be assassin clawed as the Scabior woman lashed out, something glittering and narrow in her fist and then the man was screaming. A blossom of red had bloomed on the front of his grey robes, and then the two were locked in combat, the Scabior woman trying to bring the knife up again and the auror locking his hands about her neck and trying to choke her as she slashed his arms and hands with the knife.

Hermione had drawn and was trying to fire without hitting her friends. A huge and whistling wind filled the corridor as her magic fought to unleash itself. Snape saw her muscles tensing and dove forward, knocking her wand down before the surge of raw magic could potentially kill the combatants and everyone else in the room as well. Doors were slamming shut down the corridors, the walls began to shake, a little at first and then harder.

An alarm was blaring someplace, women screaming, men screaming. Aurors were pounding to get in. The shaking got worse. Snape threw her to the ground and followed her down, determined to absorb the blast of her magic in hopes that it would spare her and the others, lying atop her as someone managed to force the doors and boots—aurors and wolves?—came into the field of his vision.

'DEFEND THE ALPHA!'

The ferals moved like they'd rehearsed it. Led by the boy they swarmed about the fighters and somehow prised them apart. Snape saw from his upside down vantage point the boy's head snap back and then forward as he bit down. The assassin screamed, once, and then was pushed under as more wolves appeared and the citizens, shaken awake from their shock, fell on him. The screams had become wet gurgles, and then ripping sounds. From the corner of his eye, Snape saw Kask's wolf child at the man's writhing legs, biting his calves and snarling wildly.

Hermione spoke from under his torso. 'Professor, I need to get up now.' She stood and then raised her wand, right hand spasming.

'THIS IS THE TSARINA. STEP AWAY FROM THAT MAN. BOJAN, CALL OFF YOUR FRIENDS, PLEASE. WHERE IS LADY ALISE?'

Madam Scabior came shakily toward them, still holding her knife. It was a small, neat stiletto, stained red. Her hands, too, were red. There was a purpling circle of handprints about her neck but overall she'd done remarkably. The girl flew at her and they embraced, the ferals circling to join in.

More aurors were appearing to separate the assassin—or, as Snape suspected, his mauled remains—from the enraged crowd. Snape plunged in and started directing traffic as a shaken-looking Paavo Kask stumped up. 'The fuck happened?'

The boy who'd confronted Snape approached, mouth red, hands red. There was blood on his teeth and in his hair, blood on his eyelashes. He was smiling, and held something red and bloody in his hands. As Snape watched, it fell to the ground with a wet plop. It was most of cheek.

'We got him, Big Paavo.'

'You sure did, mate. Well done.'

The other ferals were pressing close to the girl, smelling her, growling with pleasure as she smoothed their gore-drenched hair and pecked their dripping cheeks in thanks. Little Paavo ran to Kask to be lifted and snuggled, which Kask did, locking his arms about the boy to glower at the room as the girl spoke again.

'Thank you all so much. Thank you, thank you. Elves, wine and cakes for the adults, please. And get Berit and Kaisa, please, the children need showers before their snack.' Which presumably would not involve wine, though Snape reflected that it might help mellow a few of them a bit.

'Mr. Galca?'

Wolves had draped what was left of the would-be assassin. Snape bent and tugged the drape back. There was very little left. Snape bubble-charmed his hands and rolled a lid back.

'Imperio'd.'

The wolves surrounding the body relaxed. 'Thank God' one said softly, and another elbowed him sharply in the side with a growl and a hissed epithet.

The girl held up a hand. 'I feel precisely the same way, Wadim. There is nothing any of us could have done to know. Poor man.' She shook her head sadly at the torn body dripping on the marble.

'Find out who he was, please, and have the pension paid to his next of kin.'

Snape followed her as the groups broke into smaller units, as elves bullied Alise Scabior toward her own flat and Kask went, wolf child in tow, to alert the tsar. 'Mr. Kask, her Majesty and myself shall join you all shortly, by her Majesty's leave.'

The girl nodded, eyes half-closed. 'Yes, of course. We'll meet in Viktor and my rooms, please, Paavo.'

'Paavos' said Little Paavo, and nuzzled against Kask's shoulder. 'Did bitin.'

'I see that, mate.'

'Yay!'

'That's my boy.' The two Paavos went to find Krum, talking to one another the entire time. Snape put a hand on the girl's back to steer her and she let him, hardly reacting. He found a niche and gently helped her sit down.

As soon as he was sitting she collapsed against him. 'What happened?'

'You tell me.'

'I tried to—it was huge.'

'I know.' He put his arms about her and rubbed her back gently. The girl put her arms round him and clung as she hadn't in a very long time. Snape sighed and tugged her against himself more firmly.

'Shhhhh.'

'I could've hurt them.'

'Yes, I know.'

'How do I make it…?' She raised her hands to her face and buried them like a weeping child, rocking a little. Snape exhaled noisily and found himself sort of awkwardly moving with her, rubbing her back.

'Shush. We are working with you to help you. Nothing bad happened.'

'It might have! You might have died!'

'I should be so fortunate.'

She held on more tightly. 'Don't say that! It would have been my fault!'

'Never say that again.' Snape touched the nape of her neck and squeezed like he'd seen Rodolphus do. The girl held on more tightly and inhaled.

'It would.' Her heart was pounding so loudly Snape could hear it, the vulnerable pulse in her throat jumping wildly.

Snape glowered down, and carefully touched her chin with his free hand to bring her face up. 'I said hush.'

She burrowed against him. 'I feel like I ran a long way.'

'That must power must be exhausting to control. I am extremely pleased you did so well.'

'It didn't feel like it.'

'Did you blast us all to death, child?'

'No, sir.'

'Then you conquered. That is no small feat.'

She was quiet a very long time. 'I am so afraid.'

'Lily used to quote some muggle author. "Courage is not the absence of fear but overcoming it."'

'I'm glad you're here.'

Snape glowered more fiercely. 'Shush, you silly child.'

The girl was still too quiet. 'You loved Harry's mum.'

Snape opened his mouth to deny it and couldn't. 'Yes.'

'I'm so sorry, Professor.'

'Don't be. I have loved very few people, but I regret none of them. Particularly Lily. Particularly yourself.'

Tears were leaking from her eyes. 'It hurts. Doesn't it?'

'Not as much as it did. Time heals us. As nauseatingly trite as it is to say it.'

The girl didn't seem to think so, anyhow. She looked at him, doe eyes wet, and exhaled. They rocked a long time together, and Snape, deciding it was time, told her stories about Lily, her kindness and intelligence and care, and then helped her to her friend, and his heart felt very full.

Bellatrix, meantime, found out about what had happened and reacted exactly in character, which is to say the vase did not survive and her throat hurt a bit when she was through. She tolerated the inevitable meeting about things by making faces at the delighted Little Paavo and then her husband, and tormenting him by tickling his knee under the table. (Rodolphus, not the little boy.)

Bellatrix caught her sisters' eyes as the meeting broke up. The girl was very pale but seemed to be calm enough. Her mother lashed out a hand and caught her wrist gently. 'Girl, come talk to your aunts and I.'

Hermione went to sit next to Cissy as the three former Black sisters clustered together. 'Well?'

'No one is surprised this happened, Mother. It was jarring, is all.'

Bellatrix touched her cheek. 'You're all right, though.'

'I am. I'm going to check on Alise, though. She's on bedrest for today.'

'Does Scabior know?'

'We sent Kreacher. He sent her a letter back, I think.'

'Good, good.' If nothing else, it seemed like the girl's marriage to her husband's odd little assistant was working out smoothly.

Hermione suddenly giggled. 'She went bright pink when she read it. I think he must have been pleased.'

'Hermione!' Narcissa shook a scolding finger playfully and then rose. 'Meddie, Vaike's been wanting to show you those robes dear Helle sent.'

'Helle is her mother?'

'That's right. They're awfully pretty robes.' The two younger former Black sisters went off arm in arm, gossiping goodnaturedly about robes and other light topics. Bellatrix sat next to her girl and raised a brow. 'Well?'

Hermione held out the parchment and Bellatrix took it from her, unfolding it with care. Cunegarde had had that big, old-fashioned writing, and favoured thin yellow's foolscap that tore unless one used all one's attention to prevent it.

_'Girl,_

_Firstly, please know that I am not especially impressed to hear that you are now queen of the bulk of Europe. People expect great things from our line, to be sure, but there is such a thing as overdoing it. Still, as I am told you reacted with most becoming modesty and reluctance, I suppose it might be overlooked, despite my general disinclination to do so._

_If you are reading this, then I am dead. I forbid you to cry about it; it was well passed my time, and you known I have not been happy since my children both departed this life so far in advance of me. If you absolutely must weep, wait until you are alone (and that includes the boy-it is important you look your best for him, and your complexion tends to ruddiness when you are distressed)._

_Those matters dispensed with, I may move on to the bulk of this letter, which is to say: I have never been prouder of any person than I am of you. Your Snape is full of tales of your prowess (and that awful woman your father's married to, though I strive to ignore her). Again, that is what I expect of you, and so am neither surprised nor impressed._

_Rather, when I hear stories of your exploits, it occurs to me that all those habits I attempted to destroy in you, that foolish sentimentality, that absurd sense of mercy for lesser beings, survived even my strongest and most relentless attacks on them. The world is a better place for it. You are not just a queen but a beloved queen, and a wise queen, and a gentle queen._

_To have such a person counted amongst my descendants is the chief happiness of my last hours. Knowing simply that you are you, despite my efforts to the contrary, is the chiefest one of my happinesses in this world entirely, and has been for some time._

_I send you my maid Linky and whatever elves survive the attack on Feathering, and entreat your Majesty most humbly to care for her (them), as she has served me with great devotion for well over one hundred years, and is too old to find useful employment elsewhere._

_And I hereby, on paper, recant my remarks about your muggles, and hope that when I meet them, which is very soon now, that shall forgive my cruelty, to them and about them but mostly to your Majesty, who was just a child then, and deserved compassion and tenderness. They should be, as I am, proud of you indeed._

_We do not get many second chances in life, my dear child. If I could have but one with you, it would be that night in my rooms. I would, instead, have taken your head in my lap and talked to you about how terrible it is to love what death can touch. You know that now, but my hope for you, my darling Hermione, is that you realise what I did not: terrible can mean many things. One of them is awe-inspiring._

_You have been a terrible niece to me, child, and I predict you shall be a most terrible queen._

_Your loving Aunt,_

_Cunegarde Lestrange Wilkes Mulciber Lestrange Feathering'_

Bellatrix, absurdly, felt her eyes sting a little. The bloody-minded old crow, she thought, and handed the letter back.

'I love you, girl, so much. So much.' It hurt, she thought with wonder. It hurt, this feeling, but it was all she ever wanted again, this loving her girl and knowing for the moment, they were safe and together.

Hermione sat up and pressed her face to Bellatrix's neck, breathing deeply. 'Hold me?' Bellatrix squinted, unable to express herself any other way, and the girl squinted back as the two curled up like cats and shared each other's presence.

The three former Black sisters gathered together late in the afternoon, all three looking anxious and tired. Bellatrix had put the girl to bed for a rest and then found the other two to discuss things. George, who'd insisted on joining them, lolled from Cissy's neck, stuffed to the gills with offal and glutted with the love he'd got from everyone who saw him.

Andromeda stroked his skull-crests. 'The horcruxes' she said simply.

'Someone has to work this out.'

'He knew Grandfather.'

'He likes women.'

'Should we ask Severus?' Cissy sighed and leant back against the divan gracefully, rubbing her scalp. She was probably getting a headache. Bellatrix set her face to glare fiercely just in case.

'Ask me what?'

'Do you never knock, damn you?'

'It's all family here, Bellatrix.' Snape gave her one of his weird, tight grimaces and waited for Andromeda to ask him to sit.

'We want to see Grindelwald.'

'Is this some sort of social call?'

'Why, no, Snape, we thought with all these former Death Eaters sitting round, it would make the most sense for our teenage children to be the ones to deal with the Horcruxes. This Grindelwald thing would just be a lark.'

Snape's head snapped once in a nod. 'If you'd like to go, I would be most obliged. Black and I meant to, but he does seem to prefer ladies. Let me call your cousin.'

'Sirius? Is he all right?' Andromeda, her brows a line of concern.

'Fine and annoying as ever. Excuse me.'

They had a few hours before dinner, so that decided, the three ladies, and George, descended like Orpheus to the underworld of Grindelwald's lair.


	86. Chapter 86

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**I'm visiting the grandparents in sunny Florida at the moment. After the relative chill of the more northern state which is my home now, it's very pleasant.**

**Thank you for the reviews, they really do make my day :)**

Olympe Maxime smiled down at Hagrid, who was watching their guests with a slightly anxious air, like a big dog sensing a bad storm. Olympe was nervous too, but she forced herself to swallow it and raised her head, watching her guests with half an eye, and flicked her wand to get the attention of the student body of Beauxbatons, who turned attentively to her as she waited. 'Young ladies and gentlemen, is everyone ready?'

Nearly a thousand voices called the affirmative, and so Olympe and the other teachers nudged the group into a rough crocodile and waited for the signal. The children, dressed in their formal uniforms, moved into ragged ranks, visibly nervous. The girls smelt of nervousness and dabs of perfume, and the boys' cheeks were razor-burned and raw from the cold.

'They'll be all right, you think?'

'I ope so, Agrid. I theenk they will be fine.'

A vast hand closed about her waist. 'Lampy ready?'

'Yes, Maman. Are you?'

'Ready' agreed her mother, who used an enormous thumb to smooth her hair carefully. 'Lampy little ones.'

'My students, Maman.'

'Children' agreed the giantess happily, and then got back beside Karkus, who was holding their son, Olympe's half-brother.

Far away the band struck up. Maxime nodded to the teachers and then turned on one large, sensible heel. 'Beauxbatons, advance!'

They fell into the larger procession, every rank of Durmstrang followed by a rank of Beauxbatons. Hogwarts, of course, was missing from the parade. Olympe caught Desmond Feathering's eye and nodded and the man nodded back, and said something to the tsar that made him laugh.

The gates opened as the head of the procession marched out to the ecstatic cheers of the crowd. Two well-decorated carts trundled in the middle of the procession, draped in flags and guarded on all sides by aurors. Then came the students, the aurors and finally the Imperial family in a series of open carriages, waving at the crowd.

The giants seemed to be taking things in stride. Karkus and Gunnilda waved at the crowd, careful not to crush them. The crowd shrank from them, but as they realized the giants didn't mean to harm them some started, in a tentative way, to cheer them. Karkus, resplendent in new bear hides and his enchanted helm, cheered back, roaring in a friendly way at anyone who caught his eye.

Even with her long stride, it took more than two hours to process to the cathedral. The procession split cleanly in two as first the coffins and then the Imperial family passed through the ranks. Olympe heard a hard click and realized Durmstrang was saluting their most famous alumni as the small cadre of the inner circle passed through, and then again as fair-haired Malfoy and the brutal-faced tsar stopped to salute them back.

Olympe had seen a lot of very odd things in the past year, but none of them, before or after, would ever top what came next. The tsarina stopped to curtsey and then grinned up at her. She bore very little resemblance to the nervous girl who'd come to Beauxbatons so long before.

Olympe smiled back, meaning to say something kind. Until Gunnilda bent down and scooped the girl easily up, studying her. _'Humie gurg-girl.'_

'_Maman! Put her down! Please!'_

The girl squirmed carefully against Gunnilda's palm. '_Hello_.'

Gunnilda raised her to eye-level and laughed rumblingly, like a thunderclap. '_So small!'_

'_I **am** quite short.'_

'_Land for giants, humie girl?'_

'_Yes, we'll talk about it right after the ceremony.'_

Gunnilda frowned sternly. '_Promise_?'

'_Promise.'_

'_Afraid?'_

'_Are you?'_

Gunnilda's laugh rang like a gong. _'You.'_

The girl leant against Gunnilda's massive palm almost casually. '_Not with you, Gunnilda.'_

Gunnilda's thumb very carefully over the girl, gently brushing her face. '_Good_.' And then, to Olympe's eternal relief, set her down next to the lad. She carefully brushed Olympe as she went by as well, and then they were shrouded in the depths of the incense-smelling cathedral.

Narcissa Malfoy, snake tucked in her bodice, sat in her place next to her husband and just behind her tense-looking son and breathed. She had not spoken to Hermione since the night before and she was not quite sure how her niece was going to feel when this was all done. Her stomach squeezed a little bit and she reached in to smooth George's scaly head gently. The little adder was watching with great interest, sometimes dipping his head to watch some especially fascinating detail in greater clarity.

The corridor to Grindelwald's cell had been cold and still, smelling of mildew and faintly of water, as if some untapped vein lay nearby. Bellatrix led them, head back, and surrendered her wand first to step into the small neat room at the end of their trek.

'Good evening, Herr Grindelwald.'

'Madam Lestrange. Ladies.' He rose, elderly legs like sticks in his trousers, and bowed a little shakily. Bellatrix introduced the two other Black sisters and they all settled down uneasily.

'And how is Madam Cunegarde?'

'Dead' said Bellatrix frankly, and softened it with nothing else. Grindelwald's eyes crinkled slightly and he nodded once.

'The Dark Lord?'

'She ended it when she knew they were coming for her.'

'Quite courageous of her, I daresay.'

Bellatrix nodded once, eyes unreadable. 'We need your help.'

'I thought perhaps you might. Where is your daughter, I wonder?'

'She's being crowned tomorrow.'

Grindelwald's eyes crinkled again. 'I rather thought it would end that way. And now it has.'

'Yes. She can't ask you to do this but we can.'

'Do what?'

'We're letting you free.'

'I'm sorry?'

'Hermione can't free you but we can.'

'To what possible end?' Even Grindelwald looked appalled at the suggestion.

'Horcruxes. You might destroy them for us. You know how, do you not?'

'I do. I might, rather. What is in it for me?'

'A hero's death.'

'I am listening quite intently, Madam Lestrange.'

'Otherwise what is left you? Living her a few decades as a curiosity? Indulging my daughter's love of arcane knowledge?'

'Versus what, exactly?'

'Dying gloriously.'

'I've got a feeling you would find some way to assure that I did, madam. True?'

'We would send you with someone.'

'Oh? Like whom?'

'Snape and my cousin Black.'

'Severus Snape, who killed Albus Dumbledore?'

'That's him, yes.'

Grindelwald thoughtfully pressed a horny thumb to his lip. 'It might' he finally allowed 'be amusing. When might we leave?'

Narcissa could see the small pulse at her sister's throat working. 'Soon. Tonight.'

'With a single condition.'

'What's that?'

'I want to see her use what I've taught her. Just once.'

All three former Black sisters froze. Bellatrix was breathing softly but rapidly, eyes unreadable and dark with some force Narcissa was afraid she could name. Bellatrix, of course, would be appalled at the thought of letting this creature near sweet Hermione…but perhaps a little curious too. Perhaps some part of her wanted this, craved it. Would exalt in watching her daughter using Dark magic whilst Gellert Grindelwald stood vulture-like nearby, grinning and brooding both.

'Perhaps that would be a bad idea.'

'Would it? Can't she do it after all?'

Bellatrix licked her lips, tongue darting out like a lizard's. 'Fight me instead.'

'Why should I?'

'I led the massacre at the Ministry. Malfoy did the bureaucratic work but I killed Cornelius Fudge myself.'

'I do not doubt your competency. Just that I would like to see your daughter's skills in person.'

'She can't know that we're doing this. There could be repercussions if it got out she signed off on this.'

'I suppose so. Ah, well, perhaps some other time. I would, of course, need a wand.'

'Let me see what I can do.'

Grindelwald's mouth worked wetly, toothless, and Narcissa was reminded sickeningly of the look of an old and toothless hyena spotting easy prey. She wanted nothing further to do with this repulsive old man and his courtly mania, his prurient curiosity.

'That is, I expect, fine.'

They were turning back to go when he said conversationally 'I will, of course, need another.'

'Another what, sir?'

'Another person to bring, besides whomever you're sending. Unless you don't care about them.'

'Sorry?'

Grindelwald shrugged with one shoulder. 'Only life can pay for life, madam. A wicked person would be the best choice, but nearly anyone would do. An elf, even. Though I have always rather liked elves.'

'No elves' said Bellatrix in a tight strained voice, and lurched out. As the others followed, Grindelwald began to make a high wheezing sound. It might have been a laugh.

Severus was eating with Sirius and a beaming Anu, flanked by a large number of small people. 'Ladies.'

'Severus. Sirius. Boy. Take the little ones somewhere, won't you?'

Anu rose and gathered an armful of toddlers. 'All right, Aunt Trixie. Are you coming to war games?'

'I expect so. We shall spend time together later, and the others. We need to speak to Snape and Sirius.'

Anu ambled off obediently, trailed by sticky little ones. The three former Black sisters sat down. 'It's done.'

Severus nodded once. 'Good.'

Bellatrix warded the area and told the men what had transpired. Sirius's mouth opened and then snapped close. 'No. No no no no.'

'Sirius, we need to do something.'

'Trixie, this is…this is…'

'An abomination' said Severus calmly, and munched some fish. 'An act of nearly unimaginable evil.'

'After everything we have done, Snape, this is what you draw the line at?'

'No, Bellatrix. I simply mean to call it what it really is.'

'Well and good, but will you do it?'

'What choice have we got?'

Sirius finally managed to get words out. 'So who do you propose we sacrifice, precisely?'

'Traditionally it's understood a willing sacrifice is more powerful. Unwilling is fine, of course, but willing might be better.'

'Thank you, Professor random information. That still doesn't answer me.'

'Get stuffed, Black. Ideas, ladies?'

Andromeda touched Sirius's arm gently. 'Sirius, that was your stepson?'

'Yes. We aren't sacrificing him. He's a good kid, unfortunate taste in godparents aside.'

'Didn't that bastard Slughorn try to…try to? Minerva mentioned something about it.'

'He did, yes.'

'Slughorn might…'

Snape was nodding slowly, hard face shifting slowly. 'That might do admirably. Slughorn is selfish. He will not want to die.'

'Which tends to cancel out the willing part, doesn't it, Snape?'

'Not if we convince him he might redeem his honour this way. Dying to save Britain might redeem the horrors he has helped to commit. And his magic is strong. A strong sacrifice is always better than a weak one.'

Sirius touched Bellatrix's arm. 'Who's going to tell your daughter, Trixie?'

'I'll do it. Cissy and I. Cissy?'

'Yes. I'll help her do it.'

'So will I. If you'd like.'

Snape cleared his throat. 'I shall have Grigorovich sent to get him a wand, then.'

'An hour?'

'Two.'

In front of the altar Hermione was kneeling as the Patriach pronounced the blessing and set the crown on her head. Her neck bowed briefly under the weight and then rose again like a flower which bends in the wind but does not break. Narcissa's heart ached, because she had taught her niece to keep her head up, always, and then life had as well.

Hermione rose to her feet a queen and the cheering started from the back, from the front, from all round them. Draco was weeping, lips pursed as tears ran down to soak the front of his tunic, and Barty was somehow cheering and consoling him both.

Hermione's eyes found Narcissa in the crowd and the corners of her lips quirked up a second.

'LONG LIVE THE TSAR!'

Narcissa put her own head back and cheered with the others, and thought about the things, the truly monstrous things, we do sometimes for love, and whether she could hope to explain that to her niece.

In Britain, Slughorn himself was thoughtful. He rose from his bed and padded to the window in his pajamas. The moon was rising brilliantly over the tops of the trees, and the landscape below was as distant as the surface of the moon and as beautiful.

He turned back from the scene and walked across the cell, which was not especially large but comfortably appointed. He sat in his wingchair and sighed deeply, shoulders back. It had been a very long time—weeks?—since he had had company, and he missed it.

It was hard, to be surrounded by so many boys and to know that his sole chance to redeem himself was to avoid the temptation, and then to fail. Or nearly fail. He hadn't…not for lack of trying, certainly. If that idiot Avery hadn't wandered in…if it had not been the child of Adelbert Nott…if the smaller one had not begun to cry so loudly when Slughorn made the offer, prompting them to watch him…

Slughorn shook his head mournfully, feeling the familiar disgust and worse, the familiar excitement. His insides felt stuck together with the twin glue of desire and repulsion, mixed so thoroughly that they were one and the same.

His reverie was broken by a knock. He leapt up, adjusting his smoking jacket, and openly goggled when the girl walked in. The younger Mcnair's wife, he thought, and walking as if she were bruised.

She sat down, unbidden, and swished a translation spell. _'*You are Horace Slughorn.*'_

'_*Yes, that's right. And you are Madam Mcnair.*'_

'_*I am. How are you, Professor?*'_

'_*Well enough, my dear, well enough. Yourself?*'_

'_*I long for the day I might poison my husband and be done with it.*'_

Slughorn goggled for a second, unsure of how to react. The girl kept talking as if he weren't staring at her openly.

'_*There are those who would see __**you **__poisoned, for what you've done. You've not got any self-control, Professor. The children talk about you. They know. Everyone knows.*'_

Slughorn swallowed, throat clicking. _'*Why have you come, Madam Mcnair?*'_

'_*Because you won't survive this either way. I can give you a chance to redeem yourself, but just the one.*'_

'_*What chance?*'_

'_*Will you take it?'_

'_I must needs know what it is, dear child.*'_

She shook her head, hair bouncing. 'I cannot.' As Slughorn watched a snake slowly rose from her bodice and wrapped about her neck with sinuous grace. _'*If you do not agree, then Caroline will strike you.*' _She pronounced it in the French manner, as Caro-leen.

'_*They would know I had been murdered.*'_

'_*If anyone cared enough to do an inquest. They don't. And anyway, that isn't my concern, really.*' _She shrugged one-shouldered and made an indescribable noise of thoroughly Gallic disgust with the whole notion.

'_*Then I must agree?*'_

'_*Then you need not die pointlessly. It is your choice, Professor. Which will it be?*'_

'_*I will take your bargain.*'_

'_*Excellent. Kreacher?*'_

The elf bound them, glowering fiercely down, toothless mouth quivering. The girl did nothing for Slughorn. Her proximity affected him not at all, the smell of her perfume only a distraction.

'_*You will help Severus Snape destroy the Horcruxes you brought into being.*'_

Slughorn's legs felt weak. He sat down hard, inhaling. _'*I shall?*'_

The snake's tongue darted out once and the girl studied him impassively, very like her deadly little friend. Slughorn nodded, eyes feeling like marbles, tongue like lead. _'*I shall.*'_

Madam Mcnair nodded to the elf, who left and returned with the bat-like form of Severus Snape. 'Professor Slughorn, good evening.'

'Good evening, Severus.'

'Come with me.'

Slughorn nodded shakily and then more firmly. 'All right.' Snape took his hand and the two of them, with Kreacher, were whisked away into the night.

Peter Pettigrew hefted the tray he'd been handed and knocked, not really sure how or why his life, such as it was, had brought him to this particular pass, fetching a bowl of soup and a sandwich to a pederast locked in what had been Professor Filius Flitwick's private quarters when he was in school.

Wormtail knocked again, hearing no reply. Suppose, he wondered anxiously, Slughorn had died and was now stiffening on the bed, eyes staring blankly at nothing? Suppose he'd somehow got out a window, perhaps with his own animagus form? Or Snape had somehow got for him and dropped poison in the old man's port?

He knocked a third time, filled with foreboding, and finally had an elf open it for him. The air was still but warm, and his rat-sharpened nose could smell the old man's oily scent. The fellow himself, however, seemed to be gone.

Wormtail transformed and inhaled. Slughorn, a woman, and…Snape! He'd been right! He changed and dashed out, leaving the food sitting on the bed. His tiny pink feet carried him down corridors and through tunnels until he heard footfalls, when he turned back.

'Metellus? Metellus, Slughorn is gone! Snape came and got him with a woman and then they left!'

'What? Are you drunk again, you damned bottlenosed carbuncle?'

Wormtail drew himself up. 'You tell them, then.' He turned back and darted off, pink tail flicking in outrage. Travers thundered after, boots thumping, and then gave up as Wormtail dashed into a bolt-hole

Travers sighed heavily. 'Fine then, you foul-smelling piece of goblin shite, I shall.'

Wormtail sniggered a ratty little laugh as Travers turned glumly and went to tell the Dark Lord that Slughorn was gone, and then, grooming his head a bit to calm down, went to sleep.


	87. Chapter 87

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**New laptop! We're back in business, gang :)**

Hermione sat down, dizzy, and then raised her hands to her mouth and cupped them in case she should sick up. 'I think I need to throw up.'

Snape shook his head firmly. 'No, Hermione. You will not get sick.'

'I can't believe you agreed to this.'

He sat down and watched impassively as she processed what her aunts and mother had just told her. 'He's gone now?'

'He is.'

Hermione forced breath into her lungs in short bursts. 'All right. All right.'

'Good girl.'

'Send them in. Please, I mean.'

Snape bent over and roughly smoothed her fringe. 'I know you will handle this as well as you do everything else, girl. You've not got any other choice.'

Upset as she was, Hermione could not resist pressing against him and breathing in his familiar smell of clean clothes and something very faintly herbal. Snape slipped both arms round her and murmured something very softly.

'Are you ready, child?'

'No, but I need to do this.'

'There's my good girl.'

Hermione smoothed her skirts and inhaled as her mother and aunts filed back in. Mother lifted her head and met Hermione's eyes with her own. Hermione felt how separate she was from the others, how much distance there was now between them and herself.

'Why don't you all sit down and we shall work this out?'

They did. George slithered from Aunt Cissy's bodice and made his way across the table to coil Hermione's wrist and hiss at length, sometimes using the tip of his tail to gesticulate, human-like.

Hermione raised the snake to peck his head gently. 'Thank you, George. What happened?'

Mother spoke first. 'It was all my fault, girl. Don't be cross with them; I was the one who compelled them.'

'No, she didn't. It was my idea.'

'Andromeda!'

'Well, it was!'

'Shush, Meddie.'

'Stop trying to be noble, it doesn't suit you.'

'Oh, yes, you're ever so much better at it than me.'

'I am.'

'You're not either!'

'I am so!'

Hermione snorted helplessly. 'Aunt Narcissa?'

'Darling, my father used to say it was easier to ask forgiveness than seek permission.'

'Oh.' Hermione stroked the snake's spine. The little adder grunted with pleasure and coiled tighter, using the tip of his tail to gently stroke her in return. From her feet, Bess grumbled and eyed the snake with unconcealed concern at this whole enterprise.

'You could not have agreed to this ahead of time, but you can pardon us. If you want to.'

'I…yes. I know. I just wish you might have told me.'

'You think we did not want to, girl?'

'I don't know, Mother.'

'Well, we didn't. I'd never tell you anything about most of this, frankly, if I had a choice in things.'

Hermione nodded, feeling her chest tighten with anxiety. Her right hand was shaking steadily as she contemplated things. 'I know that, Mother.'

'Do you?'

'But why this?'

'Because Grindelwald can do it and because doing it amused him, so likely he will make a go of it. That's all. Who else amongst us could go, girl?'

'I don't know. Professor Snape-'

'Is needed to run the war. And could you send him, girl, knowing he would likely not come back? Feeling about him as you do, could you do that?'

Hermione licked her lips and tried to find the words. 'I—I don't know.'

'You could. It would hurt you, but you could, and Snape would go. But girl, I spared you that choice. That is why we did it. To spare you that choice.'

Hermione pursed her lips, breathing deeply. Her eyes ached furiously, and her head was pounding with increasing vigour the longer she had to deal with this situation. Hermione groaned softly through her teeth and ancient, palsied Linky appeared with a large mug of something Hermione thought was tea but was, she realized at first sip, tea with a very large slug of hot whiskey in it. She considered before she took another large sip and then another.

'I could have you put in prison for this.'

All three nodded gravely. 'We know, sweetheart. If that's what you need to do, then none of us will fight you.'

'I can't. I should but I can't.'

Aunt Narcissa leant over and very slowly and gently took her hand. 'We love you no matter what.'

'Don't…don't…I know what it is to do things for love.'

'We know.'

'Then how do I…'

Hermione drank more of her spiked tea and tried to force things to make sense. Her mother and aunts had colluded, it was true, but it was also true that they had done so for a sensible reason. They'd made a choice that she could not have, and that was to the good as Hermione saw it. So what did she do?

Talk to Snape, ordinarily, but Snape wasn't there. Because he had helped too, and Sirius, and they were due at the war games in just a few hours. She turned her head sharply and felt the joints pop, tense from the weight of the crown on her head.

'Well, it's done now.'

She stood up. 'It would kill Anu if we didn't attend the war games.'

Aunt Narcissa didn't let go of her hand. 'Sit back down, Hermione.'

'Sorry?'

'You are allowed to express whatever feelings you need to, but you will not avoid dealing with this, do you understand?'

Hermione's head was buzzing with alcohol and exhaustion. 'I'm not sure, Aunt Narcissa, that I am up to answering you respectfully right now. I'm very tired. Excuse me, I will lie down.'

Aunt Narcissa didn't let go. 'Hermione Bellatrix, stop it right now.'

'No.'

Her aunt's free hand reached up to take her face. 'Sit. Back. Down.'

'No.'

Aunt Narcissa stepped closer and put her arms about Hermione. 'Hermione, please talk to us.'

'I can't.'

'Why not?'

'Because…because nothing is really safe. I relied on all of you. Who do I rely on now?'

Aunt Narcissa didn't let go. 'Shhhhh.'

There was a low, strange noise in the room, a kind of odd bulky rattling. It grew louder and Hermione froze, eyes throbbing faster and faster. Her heart rate was spiraling higher and higher, and her back teeth were starting to feel squeezed in a vise.

Mother spoke. 'We need to get away from the windows. Now, move!'

All four women turned and rapidly stepped into the other room as the shudders burst open. The fire in the hearth rose, going from a murmur to a roar. Hermione shoved Aunt Narcissa behind her and swished to dampen it, pulse thumping in her ears.

It didn't work. The fire burst forth, licking everything it touched. Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, and then she pushed. The fire stopped, shimmering behind the veil she was creating, and then opened her eyes. The fire crackled, encased in a fine blue mesh of pure magic.

Hermione felt a hand on her arm and knew it was Mother. Mother said nothing. She raised her own wand and then the fire was retreating into the hearth, leaving a scorched path of soot where it had touched.

Her legs were shaking. Slick with sweat, she sat down, panting shallowly. 'Did I make the fire do that?'

'Yes' said Mother, and sat to wrap her arms about Hermione. Hermione burrowed against her and felt the pressure building behind her eyes. This time it was tears. She sniffled and clung to her mother, feeling the licking flames of fear instead of fire.

'Don't do something like that again. Please, please. You might have been killed.'

'Hush' said Mother stolidly. Hermione shook her head and sucked in air, trying to make her heart slow down and her legs stop shaking. Mother just held her, silent, holding her up. Holding her.

'I pardon you all.'

The women closed in and they held one another, Hermione's magic still buzzing in the air.

Viktor Krum's neck was aching so much that it was all he could do to keep smiling, wanting to please Anu, who beamed excitedly from the deck of the ship, waving enthusiastically at him for a second before he remembered himself and straightened, looking very young in his naval uniform.

Behind him, the Imperial fleet stretched across the shimmering tides of Varna in a sleek line, dozens of warships, support vessels, supply boats, the hospital ships, numberless skiffs to use as troop transports when the time came, and in the centre of it all the Zhivka, waiting stately in the deep water, every visible surface densely carved with runes to protect the people aboard.

Viktor turned his head slightly to look at his wife. Snape had come to him whilst Hermione was dealing with the aunts and told him, very calmly and flatly what had happened.

'Your Majesty, I have committed an act of treason, and so have your mother-in-law and her two sisters. Also Narcissa's snake.'

Viktor, gobsmacked, sat down. 'Sorry?'

Snape sat as well and explained precisely what he had helped to do and why. Viktor inhaled deeply. 'We have just buried my parents not two hours ago, and in two hours more we are to christen the fleet. Is there anything else you might like to tell me, Professor, because surely I do not have enough to concern myself with.'

Snape had laughed once, a kind of low dry chuckle. 'I do not dispute that, Majesty. Just that you would wish to know.'

'How did my wife take it?'

'It was difficult.'

'She is speaking with my in-laws?'

'She is.'

'Why have you come to me, sir? What might I do for you?'

'I did not wish to disappear without some explanation of what had gone on.'

'Ah.' Viktor wondered how to respond to this, how to make sense of things. He trusted Snape; Snape had come back to be at the coronation with them on this day of days. Viktor felt as if he should feel more betrayed, but he didn't.

'Professor, I believe you would not have done such a thing without good reason.'

'Indeed.'

'Then what is there for me to say?'

Snape cocked his head. 'I am touched, genuinely, by your trust.'

'Speak to Hermione before you go, would you? She will want to talk to you.'

'Yes, of course.' Snape's eyes were unreadable, but Viktor thought he could see a slight raise to the man's eyes, a cant of pleasure to his brows. Viktor called Bess and smoothed her velvet ears, too tired to reflect very hard on any of this.

So hours later they were waiting for Anu, who did not disappoint. He stepped forward, eye fixed straight ahead and spoke clearly, voice magnified 'RAISE SAILS!'

The captains repeated the order, and on every masted ship sails bloomed like birds taking to wing. 'ZHIVKA, ASCEND!'

The Zhivka's great deck was swarming as sailors hastened to obey. The ship flew straight up, taking the air with a great thrilling swoop, and the others followed suit, until the sky was dark with ships and sails and men.

'LINE OF BATTLE!'

On the ships the drums were booming the command and a war horn sounded its deep-throated cry. Others answered as the whole fleet maneuvered until it was spread out, the Zhivka the great sparkling gem in the centre of the line.

'ENEMY ON THE HORIZON!'

The ghost fleet was coming in low and fast, their own war horns beginning to sound. The drums shifted tempo and became frantic, biological, like the pulse of the coming battle quickening as they watched.

A swell of voices rose from the white-painted decks in an ancient wordless song so old that it shivered in one's veins, a terrible howling dirge that started in basso profundo and rose to a falsetto shriek, discordant and horrible.

Viktor shuddered, gorge squirming. Every country had their own words for it, and a different version but the idea was the same. Idel miltsung, sans mesericode, deguello, kein pardon, ingen nod, nu ka meshire. In the Slavic languages it was even easier and more awful—in Bulgarian, it was called, simply, 'cut throats.'

Another war horn sounded, deeper and more mournful than the first, and the singing grew louder as the fleet turned as one and the Zhivka shot forward, leading the charge. No mercy, the men continued to sing wordlessly, no quarter. Cut throats.

The fleets met with a clash that rattled teeth and caused the people on the ground to groan deep and low. The spells were live, though not, of course, of fatal strength. The first of the wards were beginning to weaken and then one broke and the fleet dove for the opening, firing hard at the gap in the enemy line as the smaller, lighter cutters and even the skiffs darted forth, harrying the enemy with small fire as the stately warships opened the gap, raining death on the men below.

The gap was widening as more of the fleet shoved through, ward-breakers from Cairo standing in clusters, staves raised as beams of concentrated magic shot forth, the wards visibly disintegrating under the onslaught.

The enemy fleet broke with an almost audible snap, ships clumping together and trying to flee. On the flagship, the man appointed captain was screaming at his subordinates in what seemed like unfeigned rage and panic. The commanders of the ghost-fleet were all junior officers and Viktor suspected they had either forgot that this was a fake or didn't care. Either way, soon it would be all too real and so he didn't disapprove.

The enemy tried to reform, to force their ships back in a line of attack. Viktor heard Anu's voice ring out, cracking a bit. 'RAMMING SPEED! GUNNERS TO YOUR POST! GOD AND THE TSAR!'

'GOD AND THE TSAR!' shouted several thousand voices, and then the ships came together in a rattling, howling cacophony of war-music. The Zhivka locked on the enemy flagship, the Hag, and chased it down, dodged the counter-spells sent her way with sinuous ease. The ship's prow sprouted a vicious spike and then gained velocity, skewering the Hag with a splintering yell of wood.

'BOARD THEM!'

Aurors began to pour off Zhivka, shouting, and then the twin decks of the locked and hovering ships were lousy with fighters. Other enemy vessels formed small bands and tried to attack Zhivka as she was moored but the harriers and skiffs drove them off, making sure the smaller boats could never form up as the larger ones were taken and rammed, boarded and one by one the fights receding as the ships fell.

The Hag and the Zhivka were the last, and the strong magic being tossed back and forth made it hard to see. Viktor finally caught sight of a small figure shimmying up the mast with the Imperial flag in one hand, and the ship's colours, a green Mark on a black field, fell as the men on deck roared.

Captain Magnusson spoke up. 'LORD ADMIRAL, THE DAY IS OURS.'

'ALL SHIPS DESCEND. WELL DONE, EVERYONE.'

The ships lost attitude with startling speed, both fleets, and hit the water, which surged against the wards the ward-setters had erected to prevent the crowd getting soaked. The giants, especially, were impressed by this and roared excitedly, clapping their vast hands with delight.

The ships had fallen in their lines of disembarkation and soon pontoons went up as the men stood in ranks, arms behind themselves. Anu shouted an order and the whole assemblage processed forward, singing the hastily-written Imperial anthem in a multitude of tongues.

Anu, clad in his new naval tunic and decorations, marched at their head, tears of pride in his eye. He led them all right up the dais and then knelt, sniffling softly. 'Majesties, I present you your navy, at your disposal.'

'Rise, Lord Tamm.'

Anu stood up, tears running down his cheeks, grinning. His scrawny chest was glittering with the metals he'd won during the war the year previous, and the gold braid that decorated his formal tunic. Yana came to join him, looking grave and older.

'Raise your right hand.'

Anu knew what was expected of him. He repeated the oath without flaw, having practiced it obsessively with Uncle Rumen and then Niska, who was effusive in her praise of Anu's diligence.

'I solemnly swear to execute my duties as sole commander of the Imperial fleet to the best of my ability for as long as I am able, so help me God.'

The sailors began to cheer, and then the others, and Viktor almost felt, looking at his cousins' bright faces, and the beauty of the day itself, that everything might actually be all right. The giants were cheering as well, with voices like gongs, and when Gunnilda lifted Anu and Yana and set them like birds on her shoulders, no one minded very much. Perhaps it was a new day, after everything. Perhaps.

Sirius Black regretted that he had to leave before the ball, but he supposed it was for the best, and he had got to ride on the ship with his stepson, which was the main thing. Anu had stood between his mother and Sirius, absolutely glowing, and showed them what the flagship could do. It was awesome and a little frightening to see so much ship moving so rapidly and with such dreadful precision. Sose had had a tight, fixed smile on her face, knuckles white on Sirius's arm every time the ship cut right or left.

They'd had extra guests, which is to say that the giants demanded to join them, and were standing, warded so as to not accidentally create havoc, and hooting with delight at every pitch and roll. Yana, still perched on Gunnilda, waved excitedly and then hugged the giant's massive neck, totally blasé about the situation.

When they'd set down, Sirius embraced his wife and stepson and then caught Snape's eye. Snape held up a finger: one hour. Anu hugged him nearly fit to break a rib and then muttered an excuse to slip off, leaving Sirius and Sose alone.

'Sose?'

'You have to leave.'

'I do. I'll be back before the invasion.'

'All right.' She tipped her face up to look him in the eye. 'It will be fine, Sirius. We will be here waiting for you.'

'I know.' He touched her hand gently and she smiled, finally seeming to relax a bit. She looked a totally different person than the one he'd met the year before, haggard and too thin. She'd put on weight and had an easier way about herself. She hardly smelt of fear at all these days. Sirius reached up to gently smooth a little hair that had fallen from the net she was wearing on this day of days.

'The babies will miss you. The children at the Ministry. And the other children too.'

'I will miss them as well. And you.'

She dipped her head once, blushing. 'Come home, Sirius.'

'I will do my utmost.'

Sirius went to say goodbye to Anu and then let Kreacher take him. Grimmauld Place was exactly like he remembered it. Snape was there already, and rose to greet him with a sardonic twist of his lip.

'Slughorn is upstairs, and Grindelwald in the cellar. We depart at ten forty-five so we can be sure to be on the island before midnight. Are you prepared for what this will entail, Black?'

'What will it entail, Snape? Exactly?'

Snape spread his long, thin hands. 'We've the sacrifice ready and nominally willing, that's the major thing. Some other things the elves have got for us—spider silk, the fingernail of a murderer, a horn from a stillborn unicorn foal, so on—and Ismaili found me some runes and sigils that might help protect us. You, rather.'

'Why not you?'

'Someone has to do the rituals, haven't they?'

'So what then?'

'The first step will be to make a protective circle about yourself and Grindelwald. He will direct the course of what comes next, but I warn you, Black, it is apt to be ugly. It might well stain your soul.'

'I can accept that.'

'Very well. Go and sleep a bit, then. I shall call you.'

Kreacher made himself visible. 'And Kreacher, Master Snape?'

'As if I could keep you away, Kreacher.'

'As if is correct, Master Snape.'

Sirius bit down on the laugh, edged with hysteria, which tried to ooze from his throat as he went upstairs to go to bed.


	88. Chapter 88

Kreacher could hear Master Sirius stirring, and so, about midnight, he rose and glided to him, joints cracking in the damp. He found his final baby standing in the middle of Master Regulus' room, looking at a picture Master Regulus had stuck to the wall.

'Master Sirius, it is very late.'

'I know what time it is, Kreacher.'

Kreacher snorted pointedly. 'Master Sirius sounds very tired to us. Perhaps some herbal tea?'

'Tisane. No, I'm fine. Thinking, is all. Aren't you?'

'Don't contradict Kreacher, Master Sirius. And yes, Kreacher is.'

Master Sirius sat down and sighed deeply. 'I was a terrible brother. Always tormenting him. I used to make him cry.'

'All brothers make one another cry.'

'Not like that.'

'Master Sirius, Kreacher is old and sick. Do not contradict us, we're too fragile for it. And yes they do.'

'Not like that. Why was I such a little gobsh-err, berk?'

'It is your nature, Master Sirius.'

'Oi! That's hardly very comforting!'

'Indeed not' agreed Kreacher, smiling a little 'but true. You were oil and water, was all. Perhaps you might have outgrown it in time. Perhaps not.'

Master Sirius sat down carefully on the bed, kicking off his shoes. 'Anu likes this room. Not as much as mine, because there are no half-naked women, but he does. Regulus would have liked Sose and Anu.'

'Very much' agreed Kreacher, and flicked his hand. A blanket floated over Master Sirius' legs and another flick brought a plump pillow behind him to prop him up. Master Sirius huffed but didn't shove the blanket off or stand again.

'We're going tomorrow night. I'm…I'm afraid.' Master Sirius sounded plaintive and too young, as if he had lost twenty-five years by climbing into the bed. Kreacher crooned softly and tugged the blanket further up on Master Sirius' chest.

'Master Sirius is a mighty wizard now. There is nothing to fear.'

Master Sirius shook his head. 'No, there is. This is Dark, terrible stuff. It feels…what must James and Lily think?'

Kreacher brought a nightshirt from the wardrobe; one of Master Cygnus' that Master Regulus had worn sometimes. Master Sirius stood up and donned it without a word and then climbed under the covers with a pause, stroking the sheets.

'It's fitting, isn't it? To spend the night in here?'

'It is' agreed Kreacher, and settled his aching bones on the headboard. 'What does Master Sirius need right now?'

Master Sirius looked up at him. 'Wish I knew that. I'm changing, Kreacher. It's painful.'

'How so, Master Sirius?'

'Because I'm not…because the person I was is dead and now I don't know what I'm fighting for, exactly. Rather, I do, but it isn't what I started out fighting for. I'm sorry about Harry but I realized the other day that I wasn't doing it for him. I would be glad to have him back but it doesn't feel…it's like thinking about flying to the moon or something. Nice to ponder, but not really something that seems possible to me.'

Kreacher made a soft, understanding noise and gave him room to continue. Master Sirius sat up more and did it.

'And what will happen if we do get him back, precisely? Snape seems to believe it's vaguely possible but it's…what we get back might not be Harry as he was. Or Harry at all, really.'

Kreacher knew more about Dark magic than most people did about everything else combined, but he didn't know much about this. 'Kreacher does not understand, Master Sirius.'

'It's possible that Harry's spirit is just gone. Either crossed the ice' the ice wastes wizards must cross to reach the halls of their ancestors 'or…something else. We don't know. That is the most likely.'

'Or?'

'Or he's been trapped somehow inside the Dark Lord for all these years. If he is, and we can extract the Dark Lord's soul without permanently killing the body, we may have a chance, except Harry's spirit has potentially been wallowing in all that filth for this long. So perhaps we will get Harry back, but he will have gone totally mad. Or else simply have…changed. For the worse, I mean. Or else…' Master Sirius swallowed hard.

'Master Sirius?'

'He could come back more or less himself, but end up bringing…friends. Other spirits, and they could all cohere and enter him at the same time. They could all be friendly old granddads or dotty maiden aunties or something, and maybe all it means is he'll wear a flat cap or grow roses. Or they could be brutal murderers. Maniacs. We just won't know until we get him back, and if we do, and they are…we can't let them loose. We'll have to kill him.'

Kreacher made another soft hurt noise. 'Kreacher is so sorry, Master Sirius.'

'So am I. I should try and sleep.'

'Tisane, Master Sirius?'

'Please.'

Kreacher watched him drink it and then settled down to watch. Master Sirius snorted and let his eyes close.

'I'm not six, Kreacher.'

'No, Master Sirius is a very big boy now.'

Master Sirius laughed and then reached up to touch Kreacher's aching left hand. 'Soon, Kreacher. Do you feel it?'

Kreacher inhaled, nodding. 'Soon.'

In Sofia, Draco Malfoy was garbed in strange attire: a thin smock of enchanted linen, dragon-hide gloves, smoked glasses and a cap round his head like a bandage, to protect his hair.

Beside him, Luan Ismaili was dressed the same, checking off items on his clipboard. 'So that's all of them?' He pointed to the small group of objects that sat innocently on the table, quadruple warded and watched by four expressionless figures directly from Cairo.

They ought to be expressionless. Their faces were covered in golden masks, all four identically wrought. Draco suppressed a shiver and motioned assent to Luan. 'It is.'

At Luan's order the four turned as one, raised their staves and started to chant. Draco swallowed queasily. It was a low, somehow oily sound, and it made him uneasy, even as the wards glowed and then faded. The elves moved in to pack the Horcruxes, hands and faces bubbled to keep their skin free of taint.

When the last Horcrux was packed, the four seers spun as one. 'I see the shape of shadows.'

'Morrows not yet made.'

'Cups not drunk from.'

'Fires not kindled.'

Beside Draco, Luan whispered an invocation of some kind but said nothing against the seers as the first one spoke.

'A woman dressed in darkness gives birth to the sun.'

'A winged jackal comes with gold-dripping teeth.'

'An army clad in ice moves by night toward a city of bones.'

'A blind man hunts a creature with a thousand thousand eyes.'

Draco bowed. 'You honour us, seers, with your words. May I share them with my imperial cousins?'

The head seer nodded creakily. 'We would see them ourselves.'

'Speak to them.'

'Tell their future.'

'Warn them.'

Luan had written everything down in his clear shorthand and quickly shed his protective clothing. Opening the door, he handed a copy to the first wolf-child who lurked there, one of the few dozen who'd attached themselves to him.

'Jirka, take this to that place I showed you.'

The boy's face was smooth aside from the scars that criss-crossed it. He'd survive a run-in with one of Greyback's drunken boys and lived to tell about it. He nodded once and turned to move like smoke through the crowd. Luan had made a copy and hefted his clipboard. 'My lord Malfoy?'

'Seers?'

The seers fell in all about them and the silent phalanx moved down the dark corridors, Luan's small pack trailing. Unlike the other wolf-children, the twenty-four or so did not sport and gambol. They moved with a disquieting purpose, like Luan himself.

Draco's cousins were waiting for word, and received them all with hugs and offers of refreshment. When he saw the seers, Viktor went a little pale and touched the small golden medal about his neck, murmuring the same sort of invocation against them as Luan had.

'My lord . My ladies. Please, be seated.'

Luan raised his clipboard and spoke as dryly as ever. 'Majesties, the lord seers-lady seers?-have prophecy for you.'

The seers did not move. The first one spoke. 'Little bear, we have seen.'

Draco stiffened, torn between being outraged at the casual familiarity and disturbed that the seer knew the name. Hermione's eyes were widening and her hand had begun to spasm but Viktor seemed very calm.

'So it would seem.'

'We would see again.'

'What must we do, lord seer?'

'Not you. The girl. Girl, give me your hand.' The way the seer mimicked Aunt Trixie's tone was eerie. Draco felt a chill dart up his spine and shuddered, skin prickling with bumps. He let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding and shut his eyes a beat.

Hermione put her chin up and offered a hand. The seer raised his—her?-staff and tapped twice on the floor. Mist filled from the carving on the end and swirled about both figures as the second seer tapped his own staff. A squat golden tripod-brazier appeared, filled with charcoal already glowing red. The third sprinkled something heady-sweet from a fold of the voluminous robes they wore, and the forth proffered a small dagger, child-sized but clearly razor sharp.

Hermione nodded. The first seer took the dagger without looking and slashed her palm, then pressed her hand together. Blood leaked from the cut and sizzled as it burnt. The smell made Draco's knees loosen for a second before he recovered himself, shaking his head against what it reminded him of, past and future. He could feel himself trying to vomit and swallowed it back down, refusing to be seen that way.

'Girl, we see. Would you hear our words?'

'I would.'

'They might displease you.'

'Go on. Please.'

'When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east.'

'When the dragons come from the womb of the world.'

'When you bring forth a living child, then will he come.'

'Who?'

'His mouth is bloody, and tears dry on his cheeks.'

'What is life worth, when all the rest has gone?'

'Only life can pay for life, girl.'

The smell was becoming overpowering. Draco could feel a terrible migraine coming on, one of the ones that made his head feel smashed by rocks. He inhaled and gagged at the stench of burnt blood. 'When the first star appears from the darkness, look for the answer you seek.'

Draco could stand no more. He lurched from the room to the closest balcony, and vomited in the cold air, gasping and choking, until he felt better. Then, brushing his teeth in the basin his valet brought him, he came back inside.

When he reentered the room, Luan and his cousins were sitting head to head. He had a sheath of paper and was reading aloud from it. 'And three men were heard drinking a toast to the Dark Lord.'

'Were they spies?'

'No, just drunken idiots. What shall we do with them?'

'They've no connexions to any sort of subversive activities?'

'Not that we could find, and my people dug.'

Draco sat back down. 'What's this, now?'

'Things my people have found.'

The gap between the coronation and the wargames hadn't been exclusively for napping and that whole thing with Grindelwald. A small group had gathered in private in the Ministry for a ceremony of total secrecy.

'Rise, Lord Kask, Commander of the Imperial Special Operations Bureau.'

'Rise, Lord Ismaili, Master of Whispers.'

'Rise, Lord Vata, Keeper of the Keys.'

It was an odd system, because each appointment came with a mentor of sorts, a Death Eater or older witch or wizard. Paavo, for instance, was partnered with Uncle Rodolphus, who was teaching him how to use the resources at their disposal to...keep situations to a minimum. Enver was in charge of coordinating various departments and overseeing the dungeons with Father, and Luan himself was training with Snape, to learn to be their spymaster since none of them had time for it now.

There were others as well. Scabior was technically Lord Commander of the Imperial Bodyguard, but as soon as he was back he would be, assuming he accepted (which he would) the head of the Imperial Covert Actions Service. He needed no training, but he was also working with Uncle Rod. Draco sometimes found it disconcerting, the evidence of what his uncles and father had actually got up to in Britain now that he couldn't look away.

'What does Enver say about them, Luan?'

'Shall I send for him?'

'Please do.'

Enver must have been close because he came within three minutes, trailing a cloud of children.

'You're looking well, Enver.'

'Thank you, Hermione dear. No one else thinks so.' Enver looked much better than he had but still not precisely well, disfigurements aside; he was clammy and sometimes huffed a little. His wolf-children stayed outside with Luan's.

'Those drunks who were toasting the Dark Lord...'

Enver made a dismissive gesture. 'Just some tramps, drunk on that awful rotgut from Maggot Close. The kind they brew in old pails?'

Nods all round. 'Nothing's happened to them?'

'Course not.'

'Release them with a stern warning. Take Uncle Lucius with you to glower at them, and see them fed before they go.'

Enver stayed where he was. 'News on that auror?'

In one of those odd twists of fate, the auror had been someone Viktor had once known. A drunk, he said, and the one who had, a million years earlier, broken his nose. Draco remembered poisoning the man and shook his head, murmuring his own reverence that Blagun Hristov's shade find rest far from them.

'Nothing. Our people in Britain are quiet. If the Dark Lord did this one, he didn't let on about it.'

'None of the people we've brought in knows the first damned thing. Sorry.'

'Any news from Paavo?'

'He's had Tsar Ivan the Fourth street torn apart. Nothing.'

'Hristov didn't fall from the sky Imperio'd.'

'No, Krum, he didn't.'

Viktor mock-scowled at Enver and then went back to business. 'Keep working, please. We'll figure it out.'

'We had best. The wolves are restless because they feel like they didn't do enough.'

'The wolves did well. We can't expect to catch every single one, that's all.' Hermione sent for bread and meat and hot tea, because Enver looked peaked. All four of the others glared menacingly at him until he drained some phials to help and then slumped back, lungs whistling.

'So what's our next step?'

'Good question. Hermione?'

Hermione ate some of her bread and meat before she answered. 'We wait. They tried once so they'll try again.'

'A dangerous game.'

'The only one we have.'

'For now.'

Luan looked grim. 'Only until I can figure out something better.'

'What about the prophecies?'

Hermione's face grew expressive, as it often did when she was trying to respond to something she found inutterably stupid. 'I have very little faith in those things, Draco. You know that.'

'I do, but they seemed spot-on about the nickname.'

'Why are you called 'little bear', Krum, anyhow?'

'It's a long story. How did you find out so quickly?'

Enver shrugged. 'I have ways.'

Viktor muttered something that involved the word treason and rose. 'What's next?'

'The giants.'

'All right, then. If I should be squashed, forbid Uncle Rumen from telling that story at my funeral.'

'Viktor!'

'He'd do it. They both would do it.'

Draco laughed, feeling immeasurably better, and followed them to meet with the giants.

Viktor was starting to wonder whether he ought to consider himself more superstitious, because as the sky began to darken he found himself looking round as covertly as he could to see whether Sirius would come. He didn't, and as the first stars prepared to appear he found himself feeling a sort of low loose relief in his spine but also, perhaps, a little disappointed, too.

Karkus roared and touched Viktor's head with his giant finger. 'Humie gurg gives land!'

Viktor looked up at the giant and fought the urge to smile. Giants showed their teeth as a threat, not in friendliness and pleasure. So Viktor just nodded and munched dried fish. It tasted horrible, ammoniac and spoilt.

'Yes, Karkus.'

'Land for giants! For son!'

Karkus' son Nurgolt waved from the place next to his mother. He was carefully stroking Yana's hair, which was the only part of her that was showing from the giant bearskin she was wrapped in. A small hand poked out a second later and she waved cheerfully. 'Hello, Viktor!'

'Hello, Yana! Can you breathe?'

'Yes!'

'All right, then.'

Karkus roared again. 'Land for Nurgolt! Music!'

Viktor had been surprised to find out that giants made music but they did. One took out a drum the size of a garden shed and another a sort of flute carved from most of a tree trunk, albeit a smallish one.

Across the fire, Anu took out the small pipes he played sometimes and Costin sent for his violin. Other aurors sent for their own instruments, and the odd band squeezed together and at Karkus' nod began to play.

It was not a good sound in the normal sense of things. But Viktor rose anyhow and held out his hand to his wife. 'Dance with me?'

She set down her plate and agreed at once. The two of them began to whirl and spin in the firelight and soon everyone was dancing, the giants careful not to crush the humans. To Viktor's amusement, Nergolt was dancing with Yana in one huge hand, and she was dancing in his palm as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

They danced until his legs ached and Hermione was flushed and giggly. She pressed against him, breathing deeply, and then kissed his neck before anyone noticed. 'We should spend time together later.'

Viktor grinned and said something that made her laugh out loud. 'We'll see.'

'We'll see. To the Tsar, yet. We'll see.'

Viktor looked up and saw the stars were coming out. He sat down on a grassy hummock and Hermione sat with him, resting her head on his shoulder. 'It's nice out here.'

'It is.'

It was. They stayed until nearly midnight, when Viktor could finally keep his eyes open no more. Hermione was beginning to drowse too, and Yana had given up the ghost wholly and snuggled into her bearskin, tucked under the vast arm of her new friend Nurgolt as Gunnilda rocked them both.

Back at the Ministry, Viktor and Hermione slept soundly. They elected to use their bedroom and managed it without much undo strain by siccing the ferals on Mihai, who good-naturedly took the lot to help him find the source of a leak in some ceiling someplace deep in the heart of the Ministry.

Viktor woke up early and showered before he went to pray. The chapel smelt of the incense the priests had burnt the night before, and beeswax, and age. Viktor crossed himself, knelt and began his devotion, letting the sanctity of the place overwhelm his fears and anxieties.

He tensed at the footsteps, hand going to his wand. His chest tightened at the idea of drawing a weapon in the stillness. Closer now. 'Draco?'

'Hello, Viktor. I apologize for disturbing you.' Draco swished his wand to light some of the candles that flanked the small pews.

Viktor waved the apology away. 'Has something gone wrong?'

'We've some news, we think. About Hristov.'

'Oh?'

'Is there somewhere we might speak? I don't wish to profane this place.'

'That bad?'

'Worse.'

Viktor couldn't bear to leave this safe and welcoming place for some terrible revelation. 'I expect God will understand, Draco.'

'Romanov, do you remember him? He challenged us right after we took the Ministry.'

'I recall.'

'He's the main one, but one of the others is a man called Dachev.'

'Aunt Lyudmilla's brother-in-law?'

'Yes, precisely.'

Viktor bit his lip before he could swear out loud. 'Does she know?'

'She's asleep. Paavo's ready to do whatever you want him to.'

'Where's Hermione?'

'Asleep.'

'Wake her. Wake her parents and your parents and Uncle Penko. I want Ivan and Yana brought to Hermione's and my room and placed under guard. I expect the conspirators want to seize the heir and hold him.' It felt strangely natural, saying such a thing.

'Uncle Rumen?'

'Wake he and Aunt Lyudmilla. There is no evidence against her, I take it?'

'None.'

'Good. We will have to ask her, but I do not think she would do such a thing.'

'Nor I' said Drago, visibly relieved. 'I'll do that at once.'

Viktor sank back to his knees and closed his eyes. Help me, help me. He realised the prophecy had come true, after all. Strangely, he was unsurprised. He finished his prayers and went back to being tsar.


	89. Chapter 89

**A/N: Thanks to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers. **

Snape could taste Slughorn's fear in the air, and the quivering eagerness the other old man was exuding from his very pores. Black, whiteknuckled, was holding a wand on the quivering Slughorn as Kreacher and faithful Mippy steered them toward the island in the centre of the lake.

Snape got out as soon as the boats beached. 'Herr Doktor?'

Grindelwald got out and moved with speed that was disconcerting and somehow offensive in a man of his age, setting up a circle on the uneven ground with grains of coarse salt, kindling a small fire in the cauldron they'd brought and then starting to carve the runes they'd need. It was good, thought Snape, that they'd chosen fresher skulls. Older might have broken down entirely as the old man scrimshawed the area above the orbital bones with the razor tip of the obsidian blade.

Five skulls, the old man had said. They looked quite sad and shrunken in his withered hands, denuded of their flesh. Whoever they'd been once was gone now, leaving just these grinning ruins behind.

Without looking at them, Grindelwald gestured them forward. Black sort of pressed at Slughorn and he went, moaning with fear. Grindelwald conjured a stake and then chained the trembling old man to it without breaking stride, so to speak.

'Once it is begun, gentlemen, it cannot be stopped. Do you understand? Under no circumstances must you interfere.'

'We do.'

'Yes' said Black, looking whiter by the second. Grindelwald nodded and then raised his wand to swish. The flames leapt in the cauldron as Grindelwald began to add the ingredients one by one, chanting in a tongue that made Snape's skin crawl. The air was thickening, curdling as the shadows drew closer.

'The dead will dance here tonight. _Komm, susser tod, no_?' He threw back his head and laughed a high, eerie laugh as the flames turned green and began to rise until the old man was dwarfed by them entirely.

He swished his wand and a flute began to play from nowhere, and drums, and then, like ghastly weeds, the inferi began to rise from the depths and arrange themselves about the island, withered faces blank. Their eyes were dull, without spark, without soul. Snape forced himself to keep his eyes well up and breath.

Grindelwald started to sing reedily. '_Komm susser tod, komm liebe freund.'_

The ragged, gaping mouths of the inferi opened and the sound rose sickly in the air, the stink of ancient corruption souring the air as they tonelessly repeated it. Grindelwald cackled and began to dance, high-stepping about the circle they had made, lifting his knees and moving his arms in graceless swoops. Black was being noisily sick.

The inferi mimicked him, legs and arms slapping as their waterlogged flesh fought to imitate the old man's actions. This is obscene, thought Snape, this is a horror. And to what possible cause?

Grindelwald ignored them, dancing on, until suddenly he wasn't. He raised a hand and the inferi stopped at once. Snape happened to look at the water and then joined Black; the creatures had danced so hard that some of them had come apart at the seams, and he found himself staring at one with fingers dangling by thin strands of muscle tissue, like sausages on strings.

'What is dead can never die.'

'But rises again, harder and stronger.' Slughorn said his line in a quavery voice very unlike his usual hail-fellow-well-met bellow.

Snape forced himself to resume the mantle of his dignity and then watched Grindelwald for his next cue. Grindelwald held out the knife and nodded once, and Snape carefully stepped forward, aware of being surrounded by the dead.

Snape handed the fifth skull from the apex of the little pyramid. It was quite a tiny skull. Snape forced himself not to consider the implications. Grindelwald paid the smallness of it no mind, and brought it down on stringy hand to crush the thing and dropped the powder into the cauldron.

'Bone of an innocent, unknowingly given.'

Grindelwald rolled up Snape's sleeve, medi-wizard like, and contemplated his Mark. Without hesitating, he sliced about the border, and came away with a patch of flesh. Snape's mouth snapped open in agony and he forced himself to bite his tongue, blood spurting as his arm began to gush.

'Flesh of the servant, willingly given.'

He motioned Black forward as well. Black came without hesitating, face laden with some emotion Snape could only guess at. He stripped his sleeve as well and Grindelwald's lips quirked like he was smiling.

'Blood of an enemy, unwillingly taken.' Grindelwald stepped toward Sirius and abruptly swung the knife at him as if to kill. Snape lurched to his feet, bleeding freely, and then Grindelwald, chortling, pulled the knife back and dropped the blood in the cauldron. Black stared at the blood dappling his fingers from his cut cheek with fascination, hardly blinking.

The air smelt like cold metal and semen and soil. At Grindelwald's nod Kreacher brought forth the Horcruxes. The old man seemed unfazed by them; he dumped them unceremoniously into the cauldron with four little plops.

Then Grindelwald pointed to Slughorn, who quailed. The stench of piss joined the other smells as Black dragged the fellow forward, blank-faced. Grindelwald grabbed the other man's shirtfront and then simply held him there, eyes shiny and blank as a shark's.

'Regulus Black, come forth!'

Regulus materalised.

'I release you from your long service here, Regulus Black! Another comes to take your place.'

Grindelwald closed his eyes and chanted something as Regulus flickered and then faded wholly. Slughorn was moaning softly, eyes half- closed, his head was lolling on his neck. Grindelwald stared dispassionately at him and then slung the man from the circle and then spun on his heel. He pulled out a phial and moved the contents of the cauldron into it. The Horcruxes sat at the bottom. He left those.

As soon as Slughorn's feet left the inferi began to move, far more quickly than Snape would have thought possible. When his body had cleared the circle they swelled and fell on him. He was screaming, high and shrill, and then he was under the water. Snape could see his thrashing wildly, then just the tip of his shoes, and then nothing. The others turned predatorily and began to test the edge of the circle.

'Get to the boat, go, it won't hold them forever!'

'The Horcruxes!'

'Leave them! Slughorn will watch them for you!'

'But—'

'Go!'

They leapt into a single boat and the elves propelled them. Arms shot from the water and grasped at them. One of them, noticed Snape with distant, dreamy horror, was Slughorn's. He reached up, pleading mutely for help, and was dragged under a final time. Snape turned away, glad his stomach was empty, and stared straight ahead.

At the mouth of the cave all three men breathed cold, clean air. The moon was hiding. The Dementors were spreading like noxious spores, and soon there would be no moon for Britain at all. And then the sun would go...

'Sirius? Severus? Errr...sir?'

'Hello, Regulus.'

'Siri, you did it. You did it! Kreacher!' Regulus's face lit up with pleasure at the sight of the old elf, who was weeping softly, head nodding with age and grief.

'I told you I'd come.'

'You did. Severus, thank you. I can never thank you enough.'

'It was...damned hard, Regulus.'

Regulus snorted. 'And the other gentleman?'

'Gellert Grindelwald.'

'Gr—Grindelwald? Sirius, this is no time for jokes.'

'It's not a joke, Reg. Swear it's not.'

'He is telling the truth. I am he, indeed.'

'Well met, sir. I have to go now, though. Thank you all so much. So much.' Regulus's eyes shimmered, and tears the same colour as the rest of him spilled over. Black made as if to grasp his hand and Regulus did it back, but Black's hand passed through his little brother's. Then Regulus was gone.

Third star from the left and straight on until morning, thought Snape for no reason he could name, and then found himself blinking. Black's shoulders were shaking but his voice was level.

'What about the Horcruxes?'

Grindelwald held up the phial with the liquid he had taken from the cauldron. 'This is important. Slughorn will watch the actual items, but what you need now is here.'

'What is it?' Asked Black, who had recovered his equanimity with startling ease. Grindelwald grinned moistly and made that wheezing rattle of a laugh.

'You will see, Herr Black. In time, you will see.'

Snape half-way wanted to ask but didn't, and the three, with Kreacher and Mippy behind them, left to figure out what should happen next.

Metellus Travers was wondering the same thing as he stared at the ragged remains of the British fleet. A few limping, ancient sloops had been dug up from somewhere, a handful of skiffs so freshly built they still wept sap, and a motley collection of elderly fishing boats and other uncertain crafts which had survived the wolves' purge. That was it.

They bobbed gently at dry-dock. Travers pulled his cloak more tightly about himself and cursed bitterly. Defense of the homeland my arse, he thought bitterly, and jumped as Wetherell Mcnair's soft, insinuating voice.

'Quite a sight, eh, Metellus?' His voice gave no indication of how he meant it, and Travers cringed internally, trying to parse the younger man's intention.

'Quite' he said finally. 'Shall we embark?'

The first ship was a shaky old sloop listing oddly where she was berthed. The men stepped aboard and the ship tossed, making a noise like an old woman's knees. Travers tugged the cowl of his cloak up and walked to go below.

Young Mcnair followed him. 'What do you think?'

'I think it will be fine.' Travers tried for a tone that was arch enough to imply that he might be open to having a useful discussion about options but sincere enough to show loyalty should young Mcnair be serious in his remarks.

'Not a large fleet. They say the Harlot has got ten thousand, and the Oaf commands them himself.'

'Not the Oaf, the little crippled one. The Albanian.'

'Right, of course. Krum's little cyclops.'

'Ten thousand is exaggerated, anyhow.'

Young Mcnair yawned, small sharp teeth on display. His eyes were disquieting, a shade of milky brown that lent him a mysterious, slightly disquieting air. Travers fought a shudder and pushed on.

'Well, we have numbers, certainly.'

'What, that collection of greybeards and scared little boys?'

'It will be enough, Wetherell, you'll see.'

Wetherell stretched lazily. 'Father seems to think we will not need them.'

'Does he?'

'Mmm hmm. He thinks this whole dragon thing is a ploy. And even if it isn't, our other fleet will stop them at the borders. Nothing to worry about. What do you think, Metellus?'

Travers swallowed drily, throat clicking. 'I doubt that things will progress such that I will need to bring out our fleet.'

'And if they do?'

'Then we will meet them in the field.'

'Not I' Wetherell drawled 'I have my own marching orders, you know.'

'Oh?'

'Indeed. Quite secret, but' the man dropped his voice to a throaty, insinuating whisper 'surely it would be no harm if I were to tell you.'

Wetherell's eyes were aglow with some strange pleasure that made Travers want to cringe from the lips, cool and dry, that pressed against his ear. 'The Dark Lord has ordered me to root out those amongst us with insufficient fervour, Metellus. He has given me this honour, and do you know why?'

Travers did. Wetherell was the Dark Lord's favourite playmate lately; the sheer scope and vileness of his appetites, and the stunning depth of them it nearly certain. Young Mcnair seemed as much pimp as confidante; Travers regularly passed him leading girls, weeping, to or from the rooms where the Dark Lord spent increasing amounts of time.

Yet another problem, thought Travers with a small nervous flick of his fringe from his brow. He would need to see the Dark Lord soon, and tell him what? Their fleet was a jape, Hogwarts was crammed to bursting with snot-noses and all sorts of other distractions, and the Dark Lord was either cloistered in his rooms with whatever underfed whore young Mcnair was tempting him with or muttering about noises in the walls.

'Because you are so devoted, surely, Wetherell.'

'Yes. It is a bad time for waverers, Metellus. A man must know which side he is on.'

Travers swallowed hard. 'I have no doubts, at least.'

'No? That is good to know. He's promised me a reward, you know.'

'What's that?'

'I want a night with the Harlot. And I want the Oaf to watch.'

Travers blinked, hearing the sound in his own head. 'Ah. But your wife?'

'Oh, her as well. Blonde and brunette, one on either side. I am hopeful if I do well enough He will give her to me as my private whore.'

Travers remembered the girl at eleven and felt faintly ill. Not for her, certainly, but because it seemed to him that this creature was something more dangerous than the Bulgarians could ever be. Something that writhed and squirmed in darkness, waiting for the moment to burst forth.

Hogwarts was pandemonium. Amycus darted by, looking harried, eye twitching like the wings of a beetle. His sister stalked after, bellowing ill-temperedly at everyone who looked at her twice. An equally anxious-looking Jonas Avery trailed them ineffectually, staring at a sheath of papers and shaking his head.

'Metellus, the Dark Lord wishes to see you.'

His feet felt like lead boats on the stairs. A thousand years before these had been Albus Dumbledore's chambers but now they spoke of the Dark Lord. A nude girl was crying in the corner and the Dark Lord sat in the big chair by the fire, nude himself but for a dressing gown of green satin. His narrow chest looked very small and very pale compared to his surroundings, a child got up like an adult.

'Metellus? Our fleet?'

'My lord, the fleet is not quite as large as I would like it to be.'

'How many ships more do you desire, Metellus? Three? Five?'

'At least fifty, my lord.'

'How many ships have we got now?'

'Nine sloops, forty smaller vessels of various sorts, a few barges, skiffs without number, a few pleasure crafts, and a handful of scows.'

The Dark Lord's head jerked. 'What?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Your joke, Metellus, is not the slightest bit amusing to Us.'

'My lord, it is no joke.'

'Then Our fleet is less than one hundred ships?'

'That's correct, my lord.'

The Dark Lord cocked his head, tongue darting out to touch his upper lip. 'We see. What do you mean to do about it, Metellus?'

'Surely our alternate fleet shall stop them, my lord?'

'Of course it shall. I am concerned about how it will look to the people. We must give them bread and circuses, Metellus.'

'The fleet need not impress them so much as the men inside it, my lord. The courage of our aurors is axiomatic.'

'No doubt. Still, have Crabbe find some further vessels to plump the fleet out. We wish to review it at the Ministry in, say, a day's time.'

Travers swallowed. 'My lord, Crabbe has vanished.'

'Vanished?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'When?'

'He left on patrol last night and has not returned.'

'Where is his son?'

'His son was not in his bed this morning. We are not sure whether he absconded with Alf or something else.'

The Dark Lord inhaled deeply. 'I see. Why were We not told?'

'We wanted to be sure that they were gone in truth, my lord. And young Crabbe might well have gone missing for other reasons.'

The Dark Lord shrugged. 'We are not worried, Metellus. We've a secret weapon.'

'I am aware, my lord.' Travers cut his eyes at the sobbing girl, who cringed into the corner, head down.

'No no, not that one. Another one.'

'I do not understand, my lord.'

The Dark Lord grinned suddenly, child-like. 'We opened it once, Metellus. We might again. Except...'

'Except, Master?'

'It won't stay still for Us. We would have done long since but We can't be sure it's still there. Why does it speak in so many voices to Us? We hear it in Our sleep.'

'I am sure...my lord surely will find the answer soon.'

'Of course, of course. Have you it heard since the wedding?'

'I have not, my lord.'

'We must have your help in searching. Attend it day and night, Metellus.'

'The fleet, my lord?'

'The fleet will not be needed. We will have someone find you a few more boats. But this must be your greatest priority, do you understand?'

'I do, my lord.' Briefly, Travers heard a roaring in his ears. His pulse, he realised, and then forced down a sudden wave of lightheadedness. He inhaled deeply and bent his neck to ease a crick. The Dark Lord froze, hand up, and cocked his own head. 'There!' He pointed to a wall with a heavy tapestry on it. 'Follow the trail, go!'

Travers bowed and dashed out the door, relieved and deeply afraid. Not for the first time, he wondered about how it would be if he defected.

In another part of Britain, Lemuel Scabior tugged his hat down over his brow as a light drizzle started. He blinked, and beside him Jos sneezed hard. Scabior gave him a look and the younger man sniffled and pulled his own coat more tightly about himself.

'Sorry, mate.'

'Doan be sorry. We needs t git you sumthin fer it, is all.'

Jos shook his head and sneezed again. 'Don't trouble yourself none.'

Scabior ignored him utterly and kept walking through the streets, dodging piles of soaking refuse and dead animals. The door to the soup kitchen was open and people were queued nearly round the block, mostly old or sick or pregnant, mostly holding bowls and spoons, or mugs, or even buckets. Women with packs of scrawny little ones and big bellies clustered with toothless men and fellows

missing fingers and ears from factory work. The two men fell in with the crowd, catching the eyes of some of their people from the concern. It had taken a while in York but it would be, Scabior felt, worth it.

A few of their people fell back. A woman and two men, hard-working, hard-used, hard to scare. Scabior smiled at them and then cut his eyes at Jos, who had begun a wet, lunging hack. He finally bent and spat a mouthful of green on the cobbles.

'Yer friend aint well, mate.'

'E's awrite. Doan ave a gud constitution is all.'

Jos nodded and sucked air, finally standing up again. The queue was moving again. From the corner of his eye Scabior caught movement. Jos saw it too; his hand went casually to his jacket, where he had his own weapon of choice, a chain weighted with a padlock, on it.

Scabior's right hand went for his knife but ended up brushing against his wand instead. He had lived this long listening to that still small voice and now was no different. He slowed a little and hissed at the woman.

'Gunna be trubble, Bets.'

She nodded and disappeared further ahead in the queue. Probably it was nothing. Probably. Scabior doubted it, though. He began to very slowly make his way through the mass of people, hissing apologies and threats until he was nearly at the head of the crocodile. Jos slipped to cover him, own wand in hand.

Several dozen pops sounded at once and a line of impassive aurors appeared in their dull blue robes. 'ATTENTION, CITIZENS: AN ANNOUNCEMENT HAS COME TO US FROM OUR GLORIOUS DARK LORD. HE HAS COMMANDED THAT TEN CITIZENS OF YORK SHOULD HAVE THE HONOUR OF OFFERING THEIR SERVICE TO THE WAR EFFORTS TO WORK FOR A SPECIAL PROJECT. THE VOLUNTEERS WILL STEP FORWARD NOW.'

Scabior watched from the corners of his eyes. No one moved. No one said anything. Finally a man Scabior recognised spoke up.

'Where're the ones you took yesterday, then?'

'And afore that?'

'Where's my Lib?'

'An Billy with the red hair?'

'Where's my boy gone?'

The aurors were looking ever-so-slightly rattled. 'THE VOLUNTEERS WILL STEP FORWARD NOW.'

'Not til we gits sum answers, we aint.'

The aurors moved smoothly forward in line of battle, but the crowd had a rough strategy bourne of desperation, and there were so, so many of them. Before the aurors had quite realised it they were surrounded, very quietly and calmly, by a crowd ten or twelve times their size and intent on winning the confrontation.

'I don't...' Said one, looking to her superior officer, who shifted uneasily and raised his wand to his throat again, licking his dry-looking lips twice.

'VOLUNTEERS WILL STEP FORWARD' he said as if it had worked the first time.

More people were starting to appear from the dusty rookeries and foul-smelling warrens of Bog's Close. Scabior could taste tension in the air along with rotted fish and muck. He smiled a little bit and stepped forward. More of his people were coming forth and one of them stood forth.

'Zat so, mate?'

'CITIZEN, STEP FORWARD.'

'Get fucked. We ave a rite to know, we do.'

The head auror blinked. 'Who the fuck do you think you are?'

Scabior smiled a little harder, showing teeth.

'CITIZEN, STEP FOWARD NOW!'

'Where're them as you took, eh? Why aint they come back?'

One of the junior aurors tugged the commander's sleeve nervously. 'Gerry' she said more loudly 'we'll just go elsewhere. Please?'

Gerry ignored her. He stepped toward Scabior's knot of people and the exquisite tension ratcheted higher, until it felt like the moment before the sky well and truly opened on the people below. The very marrow of his bones seemed to be drowning in it, the delicious sense of impending doom. He inhaled deeply.

'CITIZENS, STEP FORWARD NOW!'

'NO!' The crowd's response was a delirious roar, the tension finally starting to uncoil. For the first time, the aurors began to react, hands going to wands, eyes widening. The lady-auror was trying to talk to the head, getting louder and more shrill.

'Where's me wife?'

'An me son?'

'Why aint the Dark Lord tellin us what's appening?'

'Gerry we need to go we need to go we need to-' She ended with a scream as a clot of mud hit her squarely in the chest. She stumbled back, swearing, and then a shower of filth rained down as the denizens of Bog's Close made their choice.

And then the aurors made theirs, because they moved smoothly into position and tried to push forward into the crowd, grabbing people at random to take back. Scabior shoved forward and raised his wand, feeling the tension-wire of the crowd's forbearance stretched to breaking and hoping he could allay this at least a little.

'Put them people down and we aint gots kill you all.'

'The fuck?'

Scabior smiled with what he hoped was good-natured menace. 'We all jus wants t go ome, and you wants the same. So what sez you just lets go and we doan make no fuss, eh?'

'The fuck do you think you are, you little bastard?'

Scabior could feel the crowd's restive heaving behind him, and smell them. They smelt like bloodlust and like something, after generations, was about to give. He sent a prayer to Nora and to his sainted Mam to protect them and gave a final tremendous effort to prevent them.

'I aint no one especially, guv. Sos you got nuthin to report, and we aint gots a problem.'

The man thrust a paper at him. 'It says we can take ten of you people.'

'I know what it sez, and that aint it, guv. Seems t me it sez you gots permission to ...'obtain ten citizens of the slums'-that's us, mates 'to use as fod'er for...' Oh, guv, this aint gud. Aint you read this yerself?'

The auror swelled like a toad. 'Oh, you can read that, is it?'

'Shure kin. I'm tryin to save you, guv. Jus go. I'm comin fer you, one a these days, but it doan ave to be t'day. Or joins us ere. You cant likes what yer doin. Giving people t them things...is this what you signed up fer, guv? To pertect us so gud you worse than kill us?'

The auror was stock-still. 'What—what is this? Who are you?'

'My name doan matter now. But you still got choices. So do we, guv. Mebbe you doan sees that yet, but these people do. And they aint appy. So fer fuck's sake, think on it and then go. And not back t London.'

The aurors were saucer-eyed. 'Gerry? We need to go now. He's right, we need to go.'

Gerry shook his head. 'Fuck that.' And lashed out with his truncheon, directly at Scabior's face.

Scabior could duck that easily and did, but that was the final spark that made the tinderbox not merely catch but erupt like dragon's flame. Scabior heard the crowd roar with outrage and then they crushed inward, seizing the aurors before they could Apparate. Few of the people in Bog's Close could afford a wand, or read, or owned a whole set of anything, but nearly everyone was armed with something, and within minutes the aurors had been clubbed unconscious and their captives freed.

The crowd was like an entity unto itself. It turned in a huge sloppy column. Staves soaked in pitch were brought forth, and rope, and cudgels. Rocks, brickbats, rusty kitchen knives, chains and locks like Jos's, even a handful of wands from the people who'd somehow bought or stolen them.

Scabior found Jos. 'Go git me Arco, Jos, urry! And Galten aswell!'

Jos nodded and vanished as the crowd began to move. Half of them shoved their way from the narrow, dirty rookeries of Bog's End toward Damson's Hill and the nobs. The other half burst into the tumbledown, rickety tenements all about themselves and began to kick in doors. Soon furniture was flying from windows to break on the pavement. The people shoved the mess into crude towers to block visibility from the air. Scabior was beginning to smell burning, and the first screams were drifting down from the hill. Scabior took a deep breath and began to shout orders, hoping they could hold out until reinforcements came from Sofia. It had begun.

In Bulgaria, Hermione got the letter first. She took it from the panting, whimpering wolf child who'd brought it in advance of Luan, also panting. She sent elves to get the family and then handed the letter to her husband.

'It's started. Britain is burning. We have to reinforce them. They can hold for a week but just barely that long.'

'What-?'

'York is on fire and it's started in Manchester, Nottingham and Blackpool.'

'What...how?'

'Something about a riot and aurors in York. The other two started spontaneously.'

Draco stood up, pinching the bridge of his nose. 'Who do we need?'

'All of them. We send the trained aurors in first and then the others. Viktor?'

'Do it.'

Hermione nodded. 'Lord Kask, I charge you with raising our army and having them ready to go in twenty-four hours. Lord Admiral Tamm, we ship out twenty-four hours from today. I will require a ship tonight, a force of Jannisaries and seers, and Lord Ismaili. Also my mother and aunts, and Madam Weasley.'

'For what?'

'Romania. We need the dragons.'

Viktor nodded shakily. 'Let me go sort this out with the uncles. Get what you need together, please. We'll go in an hour.'

'You should stay here and make sure everything is ready.'

'No' he said flatly. 'We have done things together thus far and I will not be separated from you now.'

'All right. The uncles will do the work necessary?'

'Of course.'

'An hour, then?'

'An hour.'

The Ministers were gathering, and the Patriarch had appeared to bless this enterprise. Hermione knelt beside her husband and dropped her head, and felt Viktor squeeze her fingers. She was relieved not to go without him; if she should die, then the last face she saw would be his.

An hour later, the Zhivka rose with her Imperial cargo and headed for Romania, and dragons.


	90. Chapter 90

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**As many of you will have guessed, this story is probably going to go over a hundred chapters. I tried to fit everything in but decided I'd rather do it right and run long than cut out stuff that we need (or is cool :]).**

Bellatrix felt as if she was holding things together fairly well, all told, until the mist cleared to reveal no fewer than a dozen full-sized dragons standing before them, and her daughter facing them. Bellatrix gasped and started forward involuntarily until she felt a hand on her wrist. She turned and saw Molly Weasley looking at her nervously. The woman caught her eye and lifted her chin defiantly and Bellatrix forced herself to stay still and do likewise.

The first of the dragons was a huge and ancient matriarch, a Ukrainian Ironbelly covered in scars. The dragon hissed, steam spilling from her nose and mouth, and spread her great white wings. Hermione stood still, her magic rising about her like a tide, moving her hair gently in the self-created breeze, and Bellatrix felt the incredible force of it, how very much it was.

The dragon drew back her head and breathed. Flames as green as emeralds poured out in a smooth stream and bathed Hermione, who stood in the middle, untouched. Laughing, her mother noticed, and made a tiny noise of sheer horror, laughing. A plump warm hand clasped her own and she squeezed, hardly noticing or caring that it was the Weasley woman's.

Hermione raised her wand and flicked. The flames moved. Hooded figures rose, hands clawed, and then a city etched in green which flamed and fell, and a castle, and a dozen snakes. Their story, told in fire and magic.

The dragon shrieked and the others joined her. Approval? Anger? Bellatrix didn't know. Hermione was still smiling, but now tears were running down her cheeks. She nodded her head, lips moving, and then simply stepped into the fire. Bellatrix tried to move and couldn't, because the Weasley woman tightened on her. And Hermione was not in danger. Her magic moved with her, and grew, until it felt like they were bathing in it, magic and fire both.

The dragon rose on her hind legs and cocked her head. Hermione held out her right hand, her wand hand, shaking and palsied now. The dragon did not hesitate. Her head darted down quicker even than Nagini's and closed on it.

Bellatrix opened her mouth and felt the Weasley woman close on her jaw, hard. She debated biting down and didn't, too scared for the girl. Hermione gave no evidence of pain or even surprise. She was still smiling, but tears were rolling down her cheeks.

A tremendous blast of magical energy rose and ripped through the crowd. One of the Romanians fainted, and even Bellatrix's knees started to unhinge for a second. The magic invaded, demanded, forced. It was the rawest thing she had ever felt. A high strangled gasp tried to sound and died inside her. The magic simply took everything away and left nothing, left one feeling scoured, seared, burnt away.

The dragon's mouth opened and Hermione withdrew her hand. Blood was pattering down her arm but she was laughing and weeping. 'Yes' she said clearly 'yes, yes yes.'

Then she collapsed, eyes rolling, magic seeming to ooze from her everywhere, so much that Bellatrix felt frozen in place, unable to move. The dragon leant over and nosed the girl carefully, screeching. After a heartbeat Hermione sat up, casually touching the dragon's snout. The dragon permitted it, and then the two were stepping away from one another. Hermione turned and made it back to the group. She stumbled and then finally went limp against the boy. But when she spoke, the words were clear.

'Old Mother is ready now. We can go.'

Back on the ship, Bellatrix looked at her daughter's hand. Two neat puncture holes, sealed already by the sheer heat of the matriarch's mouth. Hermione went to the bed at once and laid down, eyes barely focused. Bellatrix crawled in beside her and held the girl to herself. She was so, so warm. Hot, but her flesh was smooth and pale. The heat was coming from within. The ship ground a bit on the hard-packed gravel and then ascended effortlessly, so well-designed that it hardly bothered the people within.

'Girl, are you... what was it like?'

Hermione shook her head. 'It was big' she said in a lost little voice 'and it was in my head. It was like...imagine a mountain, Mother, if it spoke. Like that. I was afraid but it was a good afraid.'

Bellatrix could feel the girl's heart beating like a mouse's. Hermione's eyes were bright and her voice was distant but very firm. She was well but she was not really there.

'I should go topside and check on things.' Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes too bright, like a fever. Bellatrix had a sudden suspicion and decided to be direct.

'Those seers said you'd bring forth a living child, didn't they?'

'Yes.'

'You aren't pregnant?'

'No, Mother. I took a test last night.'

'All right. Stay below.'

'Sorry?'

'I was young once. I want you to stay in bed. Your magic is too unstable now for...things.'

Hermione looked ready to argue but then subsided. 'It's hard.'

'Very hard.'

'Would you go check on things?'

'I'm warding you in.'

'All right.'

Hermione laid back, shaking slightly. She was beginning to sweat as if a high fever were breaking. Her voice started to slur a little from exhaustion. 'Potion?'

'Yes. Yes, all right.'

Hermione swallowed it and laid back, eyes slipping closed. Bellatrix stood up and covered her and then went to check on things. As she came from below decks she caught sight of the flight of dragons behind them, easily keeping pace. The Ironbelly was closest. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes.

Protect her, damn you, dragon. You and I, we're just alike.

The dragon caught her eye and screeched, as if in agreement, so Bellatrix went to find her sisters or someone, and only realised later that she'd let Molly Weasley restrain her.

The ships set down at Durmstrang just before dinner, and Lucius Malfoy was glad. He had taken a quick doze in one of the bunks and woken quite refreshed, yawning into his hand before he rose, donned his robes and then went to find the others.

Draco was bent over some maps, head down, and George poking from the collar of his tunic, seemingly reading the map along with Draco, hissing from time to time as if musing aloud. 'Hello, Father.'

'Draco, George. How far to Durmstrang?'

Draco stood up, spine popping. 'About an hour. We're going slowly because we want to get the dragons used to following us.'

'They're quite splendid, I thought.'

George hissed excitedly, head jerking in a snaky sort of nod. Lucius couldn't help it. He stroked the little fellow's chin and laughed, musing on the essential weirdness of having a family member with scales. Two, counting Nagini.

'George likes them. I do too, I suppose, though I might have lived happily without seeing that one bite Hermione.'

'My thoughts precisely.'

Draco indicated the map. 'We'll be in Britain by noon tomorrow.'

Lucius touched his son's shoulder carefully. 'How do you feel, Draco?'

'Like this is a bad dream and soon I shall wake up. I shan't, but it's a very soothing idea at the moment.'

Lucius kept his hold on the lad. 'That bad, Draco?'

'Yes and no. I am glad for all that has happened. But the notion of having to fight again is making me ill.'

'It must be very hard.'

'It is. Someone needs to, though. Better me than Hermione or Viktor. I've said as much to him. Viktor.'

'How do you mean, Draco?'

Draco spread his hands. 'It's something we both share, Father. History will remember us both as butchers.' He said it very matter-of-factly, like he was remarking on a slight drizzle or overly-salted peas for dinner.

'I should hope not, Draco.'

'Not yourself, I hope. Me, though, it's too late for me.'

'Draco, you are fifteen.'

'I was. Now I'm ninety-two, give or take a few years. Look, see this map?' He pointed to the topmost. Dense rings covered the surface of Britain, and as Draco tapped it with his wand some of them turned red.

'Those are Wizarding enclaves, scale of 200 to one on the map. See the problem, Father?'

'Some of them overlap.'

'Yes. '

'What do you plan to do?'

Draco sat down, shaking his head slowly as if to deny what he was about to say. 'Be brutal, Father. Really brutal. We have to break their backs as rapidly as possible, and the only way to do that is to destroy their will to fight.'

'How will you do that?'

'Our point of ingress is Sunderland, you know that. He'll send everything he has against us there, and it will be a slaughter, that goes without saying. I am hoping we will capture some of them alive. Then we can disseminate pictures of them in captivity and that might help demoralise the population somewhat, but...'

'But?'

'We know those people. Some of them will be my friends from First-year.'

'I have thought of that.'

'And you know, it doesn't bother me very much. I mean, it does, but I'm sleeping quite well all told. That is what bothers me, really. How easy it is once one is used to it.'

'I have felt that way that well.'

'Really?'

Lucius sat down. George slithered from Draco to him and wrapped about his wrist, yawning, needle fangs on full display. Then he slitted his eyes with pleasure and settled in for a long nap.

'Mmm hmm. Do you remember the day Hogwarts fell?'

'Of course.'

'Your cousin asked whether I would have given one of her friends to be punished should she not cease trying to resist my taking her to the classroom. I said yes because it was the truth.'

'Was it hard to change?'

Lucius considered. 'Painful and awkward, more than anything. I have come to see that nearly everything I have ever believed is not merely untrue but malignant. That was quite difficult.'

Draco nodded, brow creasing slightly. 'Imagine it was.'

'And now I see that everything I have worked for has hurt you and it is...unspeakable, honestly. Draco, I am so sorry.'

Draco shook his head. 'No need. You did this before, remember?' He smiled to soften his words and stood up, stretching, before he sat back down.

'I mean it.'

'I know. I was with them when the troops brought Dachev and Romanov in.'

'An ugly scene, I don't doubt.'

'Horrifying. Anu was covered in blood from where one of the other conspirators had tried to go for a wand and one of the wolves cut him, and the others were bound and Silenced. We knew what was going to happen to them and so did they but they tried to be brave until they saw Uncle and then one of them wet himself and the others started to cry.'

Lucius made a sympathetic sound and gently touched the back of the lad's neck. 'How awful.'

'Not for us. I told them...I told Hermione and Viktor to do it. They asked for opinions and I said...we had to make an example. That's his logic, Father. The Dark Lord's.'

'That's sense in this situation. We can't afford a war abroad and one at home as well, Draco.'

'I wished that made it easier, Father.'

'As do I.'

'Aunt Lyudmilla was there as well. I felt sorriest for her.'

'Her sister is sharing exile with Madame Morreau, isn't she?'

'She is. Seems a nice lady. The man tried to appeal to Aunt Lyudmilla and she shoved him away. She didn't shove her sister but the look on her face...' Draco trailed off again as if he was seeing it in his mind.

Lucius kept rubbing the back of his neck. 'More nightmares.'

'Rather. She said her whole loyalty was to the tsar and if her sister should have guilty knowledge than she ought to die too.'

'Astute move on her part. She needs to make sure no taint of traitor hangs about the heir.' Ivan was whom Lucius meant, who was safely tucked away in Albania chasing goats and playing in the sunlight.

'Yes, of course. Still an ugly business. Hopefully there will be news once we land.'

'Do you need anything, Draco?'

'No, Father.'

Lucius sat down with his son and the family snake and then planned their moves from there.

Draco himself was thoughtful. He disembarked at Durmstrang to a sea of former schoolmates, ranged in ranks from smallest to biggest, and all of them eager to see the start of a historic venture. Draco followed his cousins down the gangplank as the men of Durmstrang brought their heels together ringingly.

'Your Majesties' said Uncle Des from his place at the front of the ranks 'welcome to Durmstrang.'

Draco had very little time to think. He found himself duly embraced and then passing through the crowd. A hushed whisper rose like the hum from a hive of bees.

Inside the Hall the students marched to their tables in exact formation, precise as aurors. Cups had been placed at every seat, and the students raised them as elves brought the same to the Imperial family ranged about the dais.

'To our honoured dead!'

'HAIL!'

Draco drained his cup in a single hard gulp, determined to unsee. About the tables empty places were filling in, absent faces coming clear, silent voices joining in the school song. He heard Sem Smits' clear tenor and shy Galea's deep basso-profundo. Pieter de Vries rose from his hovering wheeled chair and walked, limbs melted back onto bodies, scars vanished, time turned back.

Draco didn't know he was crying until Viktor leant over and squeezed his shoulder. 'I miss them too.'

On his other side Anu quickly slid a hand into his and squeezed for a second. 'Maxims Taub was always nice to me. He could draw funny pictures, too.'

Draco nodded, trying not to sob aloud. He had led them to their deaths from this place, and it seemed right to him that they should come to join the others, even briefly. His teeth ached with the hurt of it, and the rightness of it, too.

Uncle Des waited until the song was finished. Then he dropped his voice and bent to Draco's ear.

'Let them see you, lad. They will understand. I promise you that.'

'Do you have a scroll with all the names, Uncle?'

'I do.'

'Have your elf bring it. Please.'

It was a beautiful scroll. Draco unwound it reverently and set it on the small podium the elf had also brought him.

'Last year I came to you and asked your help. The men of Durmstrang did not disappoint. Many of them paid with their lives. I would like to remember them now, if no one objects.'

No one did. The men of Durmstrang regarded him with wise, sad eyes older than they ought to have been.

'Those who served, or knew the dead, step forward. If you've memories, share them. Please. I feel them with us tonight, don't you? We should greet them by name.'

'Zoltan Nagy, sixteen, Hungarian.'

'He could juggle' said one of the veterans who'd answered the summons. 'And he loved a girl called Jola.'

'Matias Armundsen, fifteen, Norwegian.'

'He gave me his last clean pair of socks.' Said another veteran. After that the stories spilt out, the funny, the poignant, the mildly off-colour. Nearly everyone had a story to share, a bit of the past to bring to life for them.

A Firstie stood after the name Oni Salo was called. 'He was my big brother' quavered the boy, visibly afraid. 'I miss him every day. He was the best big brother in the world. He let me use his racing broom sometimes. It's mine now. But not the same because my brother is dead.' Then he burst into tears and Paavo stumped over to comfort him.

When Hans Espe's name was called, Paavo straightened. 'I own him my life. When I was hit he pulled me over the wall. He died to save a girl none of us knew. Wish to God I could thank him now.'

Another veteran stood forward. 'I loved him. He loved me. We were going to—I don't care who knows about it. I love Hans and now's he dead.' Saalo's little brother gently squirmed free of Paavo to comfort the crying older lad.

It took until after midnight but that was all right. Draco found himself seeking out his uncle before he retired with his wife for the night.

'Thank you, Uncle.'

'Not at all. You did most of it.'

Draco breathed out of his mouth. 'We had to give them their due. When this is all over, I will want to erect a monument to them.'

'Something simple.'

'Yes.'

Uncle Des looked into the fire. 'When I was...a bit older than yourself, I used to fight and then ask myself how it was I lived when men better than myself did not.'

'What did you conclude?'

'I concluded that there was some pattern I could not quite puzzle out. So I stopped questioning it and decided to make myself worthy of it. Of them. So that's my advice to you, lad. Earn it.'

'How?'

Uncle Des looked into the fire with him and sighed from deep in his chest. 'Wish I knew.'

Arthur Weasley was dressed in his best robes on this day of days. Family beside him, he processed with the others to the place where they would all embark. The men of Durmstrang were seeing them off, and were good enough to cheer as the exiled British appeared. Arthur waved and smiled to cover the queasy nervousness that was making him feel lightheaded and a little weepy. Home. They were finally going home.

Minerva bustled up to him. 'Arthur, thank goodness. The ghost fleet is almost ready.'

'Ghost fleet?'

Minerva gestured at a cluster of white-painted ships hanging above them. 'They're fakes. Those are ships the Swedes had meant to scuttle. That's part of Dimnes fleet.'

'What good will they do, if they're as bad as all that?'

Minerva smiled grimly. 'It is not the ship but the cargo. Should they opt to cooperate.'

Arthur meant to ask whom when he heard them, his skin prickling. Dragons. He felt the shadow pass over them and then there they were, a dozen or more of all kinds of dragons, the white matriarch leading.

The tsarina stood serene as they approached. The matriarch rose on her back legs and screeched and the girl smiled warmly at her as to an old friend. The dragon seemed not to mind very much; the two studied one another and then the girl dipped as if to curtsey and turned.

'They've agreed, Professor. Old Mother says we're losing the sun.'

'She's ready?'

'Yes, but we're literally losing the sun. It's hard to explain what she saw but I think...It's time to go.'

Arthur sucked in a breath. Beside him Molly did likewise and touched Ginny's hair. 'Sweetheart, perhaps-'

'We're going together, Mama, remember? For Ion.' A team of mages, led by Minerva McGongall, was closing in and carefully adjusting the wards on the ghost fleet.

The schoolboys were cheering them again. One was shoved forth and started to sing in a high, sweet soprano he would not have for very long. Arthur felt his eyes prickle as he heard what the lad was singing.

_'Hail, Britannia, proud and free_

_Land of wizard's liberty_

_Hail Britainnia proud and brave_

_Britons never will be slaves'_

The exiles took it up, and then the others. Moody-Feathering stood with Emmeline Vance, who was Eugenia, and they raised their voices as well. Malfoy senior and junior and Narcissa, all the Lestranges, his enemies and now his comrades, joined together to celebrate the land they had lost. Then it was time to embark and they did, to win back their country or die trying.

They were indeed losing the sun. As they travelled it first grew fat and bright and then began to fade. By noon a deep twilight had descended on them, and when land was finally sighted it was so dark that Tamm had ordered the lanterns lit.

And it was cold, so cold that they had all donned heavy shearling coats borrowed from Durmstrang and thick hats and mittens. The ghost fleet was at the front of their lines, disillusioned to match the rest. The rigging was clinking with ice and the decks were slick. It was so, so cold.

The sentinel was sighted just after six o'clock. A sailor shouted and the cry went up.

'Enemy on our starboard flank! Battle stations!'

Tamm's voice might have cracked but it never wavered. 'Fire a shot across their bow.'

A team of aurors formed up into a diamond and one did the three count. At three they fired as one and a bright arc of magic shot across the bow of the enemy ship. It turned as if to flee and Tamm took a deep, shuddery breath. 'AFTER THEM, MEN!'

The fleet wheeled sharply and then pursued the sentinel ship, an ancient, shuddering sloop that listed weirdly to port as it flew. The rest of the fleet seemed to come from nowhere, and then suddenly they were fighting.

Arthur had the confused impression that everything happened at the same time, which of course it had. The ship was dipping and whirling to fight, knots of Cairene wardsetters and mages hammering the enemy charms whilst strengthening their own, orders shouted in a multitude of tongues.

The British fleet was a paltry thing, limping old merchant ships, a motley collection of pleasure skiffs and smaller boats, manned by scared-looking teenagers and old men in moth-eaten aurors' robes. The Imperial fleet focused on the centre of their line and began to close the gap.

Arthur would never be quite sure when he knew something was terribly, fatally wrong. The British line shattered under one concentrated thrust from the Imperial navy, and turned as one to flee. They pursued, drums beating a tempo like the pounding of their own hearts.

Abruptly the fleet stopped fighting and seemed to hover, completely surrounded. The Imperial fleet stopped as well, and Tamm hailed them. The ships were translation charmed but the others probably were not, so the lad's voice had the odd, slight buzz of a charm as he shouted.

_'*BRITISH FLEET, THIS IS THE ZHIVKA. SURRENDER TO US AND WE WILL SPARE YOU.*'_

The British fleet seemed to consider as a tense moment passed. Then the first ship adjusted their ropes somehow and the sails went slack. A cheer rose from the Imperial navy as they saw the flags ascending.

_'*ZHIVKA, THIS IS THE HERCULES. WE SURRENDER. PLEASE DON'T KILL US.*'_

Tamm paused, hand to his chin. '_*Something is wrong here. Do you feel it?*'_

He never got an answer from them. Instead, the sky, which could hardly have grown darker did, and the darkness seemed thicker, more oppressive, and then the chill turned to a hideous knifing iciness. Someone screamed and then it was everywhere as Dementors seemed to spill from everywhere, hundreds of them, perhaps thousands.

_*'SHIT, WHAT IS—OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD NO NO NO NO-*'_

'ASCEND, ASCEND! IMPERIAL FLEET, ASCEND AND RETREAT NOW!'

It did them little good. The Dementors were everywhere, malign presence blighting everything they touched. The Imperial Fleet was protected for the moment but the wards were slipping, aurors and sailors frozen with horror as the screams of the doomed British fleet reached their ears.

_*'IMPERIAL FLEET.*'_

It was a cold, smooth voice Arthur Weasley didn't recognise at first. Youngish, bland, terrible in the cool glee that dripped from every cut-glass syllable. He bent and vomited bile as it went on.

_'*DID YOU LIKE THE SHOW? I MADE IT JUST FOR YOU, MALFOY.*'_

Malfoy Jr raised his wand to his throat_. '*WETHERELL, YOU SADISTIC FUCKER! THOSE WERE BRITONS, YOU SON OF A WHORE!*'_

_'*A FEIGNED RETREAT IS NEVER AS CONVINCING AS A REAL ONE. THE DARK LORD PLANNED THIS HIMSELF AS A WELCOME PARTY FOR YOU.*'_

_'*DAMN YOU TO HELL!*'_

_'*DO YOU KNOW WHERE WE ARE? WE'RE OVER LEEDS, AT THE MOMENT.*'_

Arthur blanched and looked over the side. He could see, through the haze the Dementors had created, a bank of muggle lights. It was probably true, then. A small group of Death Eaters on magic carpets shimmered behind a heavy ward, just out of their range. Aurors wielding whips of flame stood by on brooms, driving the Dementors toward their prey.

Malfoy Jr's hands were shaking but his voice was as normal as it could be_. '*WHAT OF IT, MCNAIR?*'_

_'*RETREAT AND I SHAN'T LOOSE THE DEMENTORS ON THOSE MUGGLES. PERHAPS. YOU'VE FIVE MINUTES TO DECIDE, NO MORE.*'_

When the tsarina called him into the huddle, Arthur could feel the flex and plash of her magic against his own, raging like the sea. Her body was warm with it, cheeks flushed. A little perspiration ran from her hairline to drip on the floor.

'They'll help us, I think. They don't like them. I need Old Mother.'

'Hermione?'

'Remember what Barty did at Malfoy Manor?'

Arthur opened his mouth to ask but Molly touched his arm gently. 'What can we do, dear?*'

The girl listed what she would need. Arthur kissed his wife goodbye and waited, hoping against hope it would work.

On the flagship of the ghost fleet, the pops began as nearly five hundred people crowded the deck. Wardsetters and mages gathered round the periphery, staves raised above their heads. The others crowded the deck and joined hands.

In the very centre the tsarina stood stock still. She aimed her wand at the deck below herself and closed her eyes. Her magic pulsed powerfully about herself and then spread out, engulfing the ship in that beautiful, terrifying glow.

_**'NOW!'**_

The people on the deck all focused their magic as one and a tremendous surge of magical energy burst forth, and the tsarina finally raised her wand and cried out. The magic was so powerful that for a second Arthur thought he could see her bones, her whole being lit up from within by the power she was channeling into the aether.

The sky flared brilliantly white, as if, for a second, the sun had returned to Britain. The magic was spreading, and with it a sense of...peace. Calm. Love and happiness. The magic was Molly, the smell of Bill's head as an infant, the cool of a summer evening at the Burrow, bathing in the sea, family dinners, bonfires...it was everything good, every first kiss, every good mark, every kind word, every gentle touch, everything they were fighting for all at once. It was intoxicating. The ice was melting on the rigging.

The Dementors felt it too. The whole hideous mass of them quivered obscenely, like some rotted but still-living organ, and the swarm began to separate as some of them moved to follow the bait.

Arthur felt them pass overhead as the remaining Death Eaters, safe behind their wards, screamed directions to the minders who, with whips of flame, were trying to corral the Dementors. They managed only to break the swarm, the larger part flying after the decoy ships and the smaller turning and oozing nauseously toward them, sticking on the wards, which began to wither under the reeking, sickly magic which dribbled from their foul forms.

Arthur saw Tamm reach over and grab Malfoy Jr's arm. 'We can't stay here!'

'I know!'

'We're going to try to draw them off!'

'Yes, go!'

'ALL SHIPS, DESCEND AND HARD TO PORT! WE HAVE TO DRAW THEM OFF!'

The ship bucked under Arthur and lost thirty metres of air in less than a second, leaving the deck tangled with shocked people who'd lost their footing. Arthur got shakily to his feet and helped his children up after even as the ship banked hard to the left. Behind them a stream of Dementors followed in eager silence. Dimnes fleet's sails could be seen, barely, on the horizon and then they were gone.

'BATTLE STATIONS!'

Aurors found their marks and began to fire. The Dementors followed inexorably until they didn't, which is to say, with easier pickings to be found further below, they abruptly changed course and streamed down toward the undefended people, muggle and magical, of Leeds.

Arthur opened his mouth in horror too huge for words. Malfoy Jr raised his own wand to his throat. His eyes were blank, despairing pools.

'PREPARE FOR BOMBARDMENT.' He lowered the wand and said, almost conversationally 'It's the only way.'

His wife sounded ill. 'Hundreds will be killed.'

'Thousands. Anu, tell the ships to follow them, we need to concentrate our fire. God forgive me.'

The ships wheeled and swooped after the Dementors. Below them, the screaming had started.

'BOMBARDIERS, FIRE AT WILL.'


	91. Chapter 91

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

Rita leant over and let Hetty press her hand to the hard mound of the younger woman's belly. The baby moved under her hand and she felt something—a heel? The crown of a tiny head?-press against her hand. Hetty smiled, face swollen from the fluid she was retaining, and laid back with a contented sigh.

'The elves think it will be soon.'

Rita brought her hand up to smooth the woman's hair. 'Are you in any pain?'

'No. No, I feel well, and Nagini takes good care of me.' Nagini lifted her head from the pillow and hissed agreement, and then laid back down, shooing the smaller snakes aside with the tip of her tail.

Rita checked in on Ivan as she left. He waved jauntily and then went back to reading out loud. The Goyle lad sometimes prompted him gently but mostly seemed content to sit back and listen, kits in hand. At his feet the adult kneazles sat in repose, sometimes miaowing a suggestion or comment.

'Gregory? Ivan?'

Both boys stopped what they were doing. 'Ma'am?'

'I am going out to test the air. Keep an eye out.'

'We will.'

Ivan smiled at her and then bent back to his reading. Rita transformed and flittered out the door, wings working hard. Her shoulders, she thought, would doubtlessly be sore later tonight. Small had very simple compound eyes, which did make it harder to see as she might have liked. Her own sharp ears and tiny form more than made up for it. She kept tight to the ceiling and flicked a foreleg in friendly greeting to the various snakes she caught sight of in the rafters and out of the way hidey-holes of the castle.

The Hall was but sparsely peopled. She used that word advisedly, as there were a great many of Greyback's boys lolling about, shaven-headed, blood-stinking, half-drunk, foul-tempered, miles from Nicolae and his clean, smart, respectful men. These were men who wanted not to be, and that made Rita's stomach turn.

On the dais the Dark Lord sat brooding. 'We do not hear them just now' he said to no-one in particular 'but We know they are there.'

Rita noted this, thoroughly creeped out, and then cautiously flew closer. She flicked at a few borer worms she knew slightly and then found a place just above the chair in a cozy little crack. She settled in and waited for something to happen.

She didn't wait long. Within ten minutes a panting auror ran in, bowed and then fell to his knees, head on the floor. It was bad, then. Rita could taste the atmosphere in the room curdle and thicken like rancid milk.

'My lord, our false fleet engaged and was overtaken. The Dementors sprung the trap, except...'

'Except...?'

'They somehow drew them off. The Imperial fleet, I mean.'

'Drew them...you mean the girl has drawn off the Dementors?'

'Some of them, my lord.'

'We see. How many are left?'

'Errr...none, my lord. The others attempted to attack the fleet but then became diverted by the prey below.'

'Our wonder weapon is attacking Leeds?'

'Yes, my lord.'

The Dark Lord nodded, seemingly taking things in stride. 'Where are Our Death Eaters?'

'Trying to corral the remains of the swarm, my lord.'

'Trying? Have they scattered?'

'Some, my lord. The others...Malfoy Jr is bombarding them.'

'Bombarding them?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'And Leeds with them.'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Ah. We see. GREYBACK!'

The man himself appeared, paunch stained with gore. His sharp brown teeth flashed as he bared them at the shaking auror. 'Milord?'

'I have need of you.'

'Anything, my lord.'

'Get ten men and assemble them here. We will lead them Ourselves to find Our new ally. We have done it before, after all, and with no help.'

Greyback nodded. 'All right then, milord. An hour?'

'Fine. Do something about the auror, We can't have this getting out.'

Greyback's arm shot out and grabbed the auror before the fellow could run. 'What about the capital, milord? My men've been in London for weeks. Should I have them concentrate on defending the Ministry?'

'Defending the...no, Fenrir. That is what Our ally is for. Tell them to stand their ground. We will not lose even a metre of our capital city.'

'If they bombard us, milord, not ceding an inch'll mean fuck all.'

'That's what we've got the children for, isn't it?'

Greyback's low brow creased. 'Milord?'

'Have your men secure them to the roofs of the buildings.'

'Secure...like with chains?'

'Whatever will work. We need to make sure young Malfoy sees them. Let him hear them shrieking as they burn, or sound the retreat. Either way, we will have won. A moral if not necessarily an actual victory.'

'Will we meet them in the field? Before that, I mean.'

The Dark Lord stretched. 'We suppose We must. Have the Death Eaters come to me immediately after they land here. We will work it out with Walden and his son.'

'Yes, milord? The auror?'

Kill him.'

Rita could bear no more. She flew from her hiding place and headed for the room as quickly as possible. She passed through the wall with no problems and turned back at once.

'Hurry! They've come for the children!'

The Goyle boy stood up and cracked his neck. 'Who do we go for first?'

'Volf children and then little vons. He vants students for fighting.'

'Yes' she said, trying to calm down 'right, of course.'

The snakes were coming. Dozens of them, slithering toward her in a stream. 'Nagini! Hurry!'

She came too, big eyes regarding Rita with a look that suggested she might want to make sure it was important enough to have taken her away from Hetty.

'He's trying to get the basilisk. What do we do?'

Hetty herself was waddling quickly toward them. 'Darlings, go! I'll explain to the snakes.' She hissed at them for a few terribly long seconds and then subsided, breathing hard.

'We have to go!'

Goyle Jr nodded. 'I'll get the girls and then the littles, all right?'

Ivan stood up straighter. 'I get the littles, Greg, yes?'

'Stay here, mate.'

'Can't. Ve need everyvon. Aunt Hetty is too much big now, but I am little and qvick. Need other clothes, though. Mippy? Help me?'

The elf quick-changed the smaller boy into a shirt and faded, ragged trousers. He took off his shoes and donned the crude leather ones the elf handed him. 'You get girls and I get littles and ve meet vhere?'

Goyle Jr shifted uncomfortably but didn't protest. 'The statute of the humpbacked witch, remember where it is?'

'Yes. Ve go now?'

'Yeah. Back soon, ladies. Take care of the kneazles if I don't come back, please.' He picked Ivan up and the two went through the wall.

Rita watched them go. 'I need to tell Nicolae, Hetty. Will you be all right?'

'I will. Darling, take care.'

'Thank your family for me, if I should...goodbye, Hetty.' She turned into Small and went to find her lover in the icy knowledge she would likely live very little longer.

Hermione knew intellectually it was very cold but she hardly felt it. She was warm, almost too warm, and turned to press more fully against the dragon's flank, breathing in the indefinable animal smell, the leather and pitch tang of the dragon's wing. She extended a finger to brush a delicate bony ridge and felt Old Mother shiver under her fingers, lethal and indulgently allowing her explorations.

Old Mother's snout gently probed her own back. The dragon's breath was hot. Hermione grinned at the tickle of it and turned so the dragon could see her. Old Mother very cautiously poked her belly, prompting a giggle.

All round the psychic stench of the Dementors was like a shroud. Even through the splintery, ancient decks and tattered rigging Hermione could perceive them following as attentive as any swain and vile as any carrion eater. She had a mental image of the things, rotted hands and filthy cowls, and felt the dragon's own mind gently brush hers. Old Mother snorted and Hermione stepped closer, resting her head on the matriarch's back.

Old Mother shifted, sniffing the air. She disliked being confined. Hermione tried to project sincere apologies and then focused again on the image of the Dementors. One clawed talon rose to rake the air almost lazily. When the time came, the dragon would be ready to strike. So would all her kin, likewise trapped below in these floating wrecks. Hermione had hoped to free the dragons from the ships as soon as they'd crossed into British airspace but with their tail of Dementors it was impossible. And admittedly, probably safer for the people on the ground. The last thing they needed was some sort of panic amongst the civilian population.

Old Mother roared. To Hermione, it was a comforting sound. The dragon was just talking, was all. She nestled against the warm flank and pressed her head to the matriarch's side. Dragons have three hearts and she could hear them all, pumping green blood in the dragon's chest.

'Soon' she said simply. The dragon snorted and laid her head down. Hermione rose, facing the dragon at all times, and climbed back into her drawers and camisole. She frowned at her clothing. It felt unnecessary to her, an encumbrance, and too hot as well. Still, it would not do for Aunt Cissy to find out she'd been nearly nude in front of hundreds of sailors. And the mages and seers would be deeply offended. She compromised by casting a strong cooling charm on her tunic and trousers before she climbed in. The dragon watched her with one slitted eye, snorting as if in laughter.

'Yes, well, I've not got a thick hide. I'd sooner have than this.' It was nice, though, to have something of Viktor's with her. She saw his face in her mind and smiled, and then something else came into her own consciousness a second. A male Ironbelly, vast and terrible, his jet pine-dark and his wings the fine white of marble. Old Mother made a low sad groan and then Hermione saw the male on the ground, arted, heart cut out. Mere speech did not suffice for such a thing and in horror and shame at her human brethren she dropped her head and sighed.

The dragon groaned again. She remembered, and remembering she grieved. Hermione blinked tears. The dragon's grief deserved to be acknowledged and respected but she could not for the life of her imagine how.

A horn rang out on deck and the others answered. Dimnes was in sight. Hermione's heartbeat picked up a little. Old Mother raised her head to sniff the air, grief forgot about. Buried, perhaps. Hermione knew about that. She pressed her lips to the edge of the dragon's wing and then, still moving backward, went topside.

The fighters of Dimnes fleet had been carefully chosen. Five hundred Jannisaries, five hundred Croats. The unexpected addition of several hundred other people was a wildcard but not a fatal one. The deck was crowded as she stepped on. Molly Weasley made her way over, touching Hermione's cheeks worriedly.

'You are awfully warm, love. Do you feel well?'

'I do.' The cold was stinging her skin but in an abstract manner that was more like the suggestion of cold than the actual sensation. Hermione flexed her hands and felt the heat round them. The right, she'd noticed, was shaking a bit less lately. A bit.

An auror bowed himself up to her. 'We're over Whitnell, Majesty.'

Hermione went to the railings. Under them Whitnell was lying exposed in the darkness. She could see the grasping beams of houses which had burnt and torchlight glittering off mounds of bones. Had aurors dragged the dead into a heap? Had they even been dead, or had they simply left the de-souled to breathe and wet until they died of thirst or exposure?

In the cold and light the frost glittered like diamonds. The few buildings which remained were like bones picked clean by predators. Hermione shivered and turned. A seer was looking at her. She nodded, smiling as much as she could, and then turned back.

In the distance Dimnes loomed. More Dementors were waiting for them. The aurors were gathering. Hermione could feel Old Mother's eagerness for combat. She smiled down at the deck and then raised her wand to her throat.

'*IS EVERYONE READY TO APPARATE?'

A thousand voices and then some roared the affirmative. Hermione took Molly's arm and then gave the nod. Immediately the ghost fleet emptied, aside from a small handful of shipbreakers who set about loosening vital bolts and smashing holes. They were almost ready, and when even these had retreated to the safety of the other ships Hermione stood in the centre of it all, wind whipping her hair. She felt as if her skin was bathed in cleansing fire, like the hot dragon's breath was scorching her all over.

She gave the mages the signal. They arranged themselves along the railings and then pointed their staves. The ships shuddered as they began to break, and then the timber was exploding outward as the dragons finished the job and burst forth, shooting gouts of flame to send burning wood falling to the surface of Dimnes, lifeless as the moon.

Hermione closed her eyes. It would be hard, and dangerous, this next part. The odds of a catastrophic failure were high. She touched the pin Viktor had given her so long before and hoped Miraslava was with them now.

'Captains?'

'Another minute, Majesty.' Captain Magnussen stood leant against the mast, bearded face unreadable. The sailors were at assembly, waiting for the moment they would spring into action.

The swarm caught up. Hermione could taste the moment, hot and bitter and thrilling on her tongue. The wind was a kiss on her skin. She closed her eyes a second.

'Majesty?'

'At your word, captain.'

'SAILORS, TO YOUR POSTS! GOD AND THE TSARINA! MOTHER SWEDEN!'

The sailors manned their places and the sails snapped in the wind as they pulled taught. Ice broke in sheets and plummeted to the deck, breaking into sharp spears. Hermione didn't care. All she could feel was the wind on her skin, smoking as it met the heat that was pouring from her flesh as they rocketed forward, trailing the Dementors.

'BRACE YOURSELVES!'

The ships gained altitude for a second and then plunged down. Through the crowd of Dementors, through the clouds, through the surface of the water and down into the icy-cold water. The shields activated, and the people on deck were not even slightly damp as they passed into the blackness of the water.

Hermione felt a strong, confused pulse of energy as Old Mother touched her mind. She saw the surface of the sea through the dragon's eyes, the Dementors clustered on it waiting for them, and showed what she saw herself, the dark tunnel of water that was cradling them on all sides.

There was a moment of terrified, sickened panic as Old Mother didn't relinquish the link; rather, she simply let Hermione ride in her mind as she led the assault.

The matriarch sailed down and breathed in. Hermione felt her vast lungs expand as the dragon drew in a breath. The air burnt the dragon's sensitive airways as she drew in the needed oxygen and breathed out pure flame.

Hermione felt it all. The flame kindled low in her belly and rose higher until her body couldn't hold it anymore. She felt her—their-lips parting and the flames spraying forth. She saw the Dementors below her ignite, flailing, screeching their hideous supersonic cries. The others turned and rose to fight, battening on the dragons like leeches.

Old Mother's head whipped side-to-side as she shook them off. Hermione's consciousness was split; half of her was being brought through the tunnel of the water, trying to keep her eyes down as the sides rushed by; the other half was drawing in more air-fuel to sear the creatures which clung to her head.

Hermione dropped down to her knees, closing her eyes. She couldn't bear it, this two-in-one. She squeezed her eyes shut and cried out as the ship lurched and Old Mother/she turned their/her head to breathe more flame. She couldn't bear it, this double mind, it would kill her. Her brain was throbbing with too much input and her eyes felt as if they'd pop from her head.

Above the water the Dementors were locked in combat with the dragons. The dragons would whip forward and breathe on them and they fly back, leading more and more Dementors higher where the other dragons could join them.

Old Mother/Hermione roared. Some of them were fleeing. The enemy-creatures, the evil things, the murdering foul-smelling cloud, was going. It was going back to the man-place. She/they rose up and shrieked, wings working as the ships broke the water and rose, dripping and freezing as soon as the water hit the air.

Hermione gasped with relief as the two halves of her unified enough to be bearable, if only just. She stood, breathing the cold air, feeling her tiny human feet and claws as one. The dragons were waiting for them. Hermione jumped onto the railing, hardly noticing that the people behind her gasped with horror.

'Old Mother! We need to follow them!'

The matriarch roared. Hermione felt the strength of her, a great furnace of emotion and images. Her mind was groaning under the weight of the renewed assault on her consciousness. She wavered on the railing and then started to fall. Strong hands pulled her back onto the ship. She gasped, not sure for a second whether she was the girl or the dragon, or which she wanted to be. Was there even a choice now?

'After them! Please, hurry!'

'What about Dimnes, Majesty?' The captain's voice brought things back a little. Hermione raised a hand—a pink human hand—and took in air which would not become flame. She was the girl, then. The girl, the girl.

'Take three ships and have them bombard it. Leave nothing.'

'Aye aye, Majesty.' The captain moved to give the orders. The first burst of flame was scouring Dimnes as the fleet turned to chase down the remaining swarm and then meet up with Sunderland fleet. Hermione stepped forward and lurched, knees unlocking for a second.

'Madam Weasley?'

'Majesty?'

'I am not feeling well, after all. Perhaps you would join me below deck?'

Hermione settled into the bed and closed her eyes. She dreamed of flight, of having wings and using them and seeing her mate's body in a field as men swarmed it like ants to take his terrible hearts.

The Imperial navy was winning and below them Leeds was in flames. Draco could hardly breathe though the baking heat that was rising from below. He raised his head and wiped sweat out of his eyes.

'Are we nearly ready to make contact?'

Anu looked ancient, his eye red from smoke and tears. He sounded a thousand years old. 'Yes. Give me the word.'

'Can you get us closer?'

'I think so. Deploy everyone?'

'Keep a few regiments back. Three, say. We need to take Leeds with the rest.'

'I know. AURORS, PREPARE FOR THE DROP.'

Anu wiped his streaming eye. 'I'm sorry, Drago.'

Draco touched his shoulder. 'No. None of us knew.' He gave Anu a quick, rough hug. 'I love you. Live, whatever happens.'

'Love you too. Don't die. You promised me, remember?'

'Last year.'

'Last year.'

The captains were gathering. Draco knew they had to go. 'Viktor?'

'Drago?'

'Did you want to say something? To the men?'

Viktor opened his mouth and then shook his head. 'You're better at inspiring men than I am, Drago. Would you?'

Everyone was nearly ready. Drago raised his wand to his throat. 'THE TSAR HAS CHARGED US WITH THE TAKING OF THIS CITY. ARE YOU WITH ME?'

Below them the screams were beginning to fade a little. The drop-ships and skiffs were made ready. Draco could have sicked up. Instead, he donned his cloak, which quartered the lion and unicorn of Britain with the Imperial double eagle.

'FOR BRITAIN, FOR THE EMPIRE, FOR THE TSAR!'

The drop-ships were ready. Draco was the last on. He waved to Anu, who waved back. 'TAKE THEM DOWN!'

The ships plummeted, too fast for anyone on the ground to get a bead. Draco's teeth clacked together and then they were off and moving. The ranks arranged themselves for combat and waited. Viktor stepped up.

'MEN OF LEEDS, SURRENDER YOUR CITY.'

There was no response from inside. None. Viktor sucked air between his teeth and then tried again.

'SURRENDER AND THERE WILL BE NO SACK. IF WE TAKE YOU BY FORCE, I CANNOT ASSURE YOUR SAFETY. SURRENDER TO US IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIVES, AND THOSE OF YOUR CHILDREN.'

Finally a single figure stepped beyond the wards, and then another. Soon ten were shuffling toward them. As soon as they were in range all ten stood still and raised their hands to show they weren't armed.

'FREEZE!'

Aurors were racing toward them. They jerked the ten roughly up and searched them and then half-dragged them toward the generals awaiting their orders. Draco went to them at once.

'Old men. A few women as well. Auror, be gentle, please.'

The old people watched him with no fear. Draco made sure they could see what he was doing as he put his wand away. 'Who are you gentlemen? Ladies?'

The first old man raised his chin. 'Charlie Barnes. I was under-foreman at the smelting plant by St. Vitus'.'

'Are you the leader here?'

'John Doakes sent me. We can't hold.'

'Will this Mr. Doakes disable your wards?'

'Dunno how. None a us do.'

Draco motioned a stretcher bearer forward. 'Water, please, for the emissaries.'

Draco had a sudden suspicion. 'Mr. Barnes, is this Mr. Doakes the mayor here?'

'No. He were over-foreman.'

'Who is in control in the city right now?'

The old man shrugged. 'Dunno. We went to hidin soon's the alarum came.'

'Hiding?'

'Under, like. We knew somethin was up sos we'd hid ourselves.'

Vaike snapped her fingers. 'Scabior's tunnels!'

'Yep, thas right. The little bloke in the funny hat, is it?'

'That's Lem. How many are you?'

Barnes squinted thoughtfully. 'Lots. Some nobs too, but mostly not.'

'Are there aurors in the streets?'

'Not as I saw.'

'Is there anyone in the streets?'

'Alive?'

'Good point. Our people will disable your wards now and we'll go in and sort this out. Majesty?'

Viktor nodded. Leeds lasted another ten minutes and then the conquerors came through the place where the wards had been and onto Fern Row, the high street of Wizarding Leeds. The houses were starting to open up, shutters being eased open by inches. The streets were littered with bodies, eyes staring sightlessly ahead. Some of the most fortunate were dead already.

Draco shoved down the memories of Malfoy Manor and pushed forward. He could hear talking, first soft and then louder. Enver stopped and held up a hand. 'Below us.'

'Tunnels' said Barnes simply and kept walking. They rest followed him, feeling oddly blank in the creepy silence. The sounds below were getting louder the closer they got to the place Barnes was leading them, a factory which gleamed in the moon that was trying to peek through the clouds.

Vaike slid her hand into his. 'Well?'

'Well.'

'Muggle Leeds is safe. Ish. Their aurors are fighting the fires and the Dementors seemed to have fled.'

'Any idea where?'

'I'll put people on it.' She turned and said something to an aide, who stalked off, shouting orders to send people to track the Dementors. The door of the factory groaned open and the maw invited them to enter the foul-smelling belly of the beast.

It occurred to Draco, not for the first time, that this might be a trap of some kind. But to what end? He followed the others into the dark factory. The machinery was silent now, brooding in the darkness like a many-armed demon. The huge room stank powerfully of burnt metal and cheap coal, sweat and darkness.

A small door opened. Aurors flooded forward to light the room and vet the people streaming into the room. Draco stood still, watching as the tunnels vomited back a cross-section of the streets. Toughs in top hats and leather coats carried squalling, dirty babies, and led old blind grandmothers by the hand. Old men came forward, the halt and lame, young men with missing fingers and bad teeth, tired women who were thirty but looked sixty, they came and then they waited, used to be directed.

'There's Doakes. Doakes!'

Doakes stumped over. His right leg trailed stiffly behind him. 'Aye, that's me, John Doakes.'

'Sir, are you surrendering Leeds to us?'

'I am. You the king?'

'Tsar. No, the dark-haired man beside my wife is.'

'Oh.' The man inclined his head. 'Do I tell him, then?'

'If you'd like to.'

Doakes walked slowly up to Viktor. 'Here we are, then.'

'Quite so. You must have thought very quickly, to save all these people.'

Doakes shook his head. 'We knew.'

'Knew the Dementors were coming?'

'It's allus somethin.'

'How did you get them all down there?'

Doakes shrugged, chewing his lip. 'We was workin and felt them things. Sos Maggs there' he indicated a bent-backed old woman dressed in a dirty shift and no shoes 'opened the door and we went down jus like Scabs tole us.'

'And the children?'

'The big ones work ere too. We brung the little'nes with us on account a the war was comin.'

'And the old people?'

'Them s'well.'

'You have done well, Mr. Doakes. Would your people help us?'

'What with?' Doakes squinted distrustfully at Viktor. Draco bit the inside of the cheek and snorted helplessly. Doakes was a peppery old bugger, that was certain. Elves were appearing with baskets of bread and cheeses, hot coffee and milk for the children.

'Eat, and then help us secure the city.'

'We needs to call them boys.'

'Boys?'

Doakes smiled. He was missing his front teeth. 'Some fellas I knows. Friends a Scabs'.'

'Lemuel Scabior, you mean?'

'He jus calls imself Scabs. Gi' me a hour and they'll come to us.'

The troops went to secure a perimeter and scout the areas that branched out from the factory. Draco found himself dandling a couple of urchins on his lap, feeding them bits of bread and apples and encouraging them to let the healers look them over.

Vaike turned her head as one of her aide's came back. 'The Dementors have doubled back. They're trying to attack muggles to the north of us.'

Draco stood, setting the two kids on their feet as the others did the same, preparing to move out. They had only made it outside when someone shouted.

'Look!'

A stream of skiffs was flying above them at incredible speed toward the gathering knot of Dementors. The skiffs surrounded the swarm and sprouted tentacles of flames, lashing the Dementors. This new, smaller swarm shrieked supersonically and began to move toward the sea.

He's doing it! Was Draco's first thought. I'll kill him! Was the second. He would take Anu's hide off, he stormed, right after he was done hugging the stuffings out of the brave, crazy little son of a bitch who'd somehow become his little brother.

An auror shouted. A small knot of brooms travelling very quickly flew into their field of vision, speeding south. A few skiffs broke off and followed, overtook them. Draco found himself cringing as a short, vicious battle took place, the skiffs darting and firing, and finally pounding the brooms into submission. The Dementors finally broke around the same time, and drifted off toward Dimnes.

Twenty minutes later Anu appeared, panting and red-cheeked with windburn. A bad burn glistened on one cheek and his good eye was swollen shut, lid purple.

Draco pounced him, hugging and shaking. 'I'll beat the hide off of you!'

Anu hugged him back, trembling a bit. 'I was so scared' he whispered as he held on for dear life, head against Draco's neck. Draco held him and said nothing, alternatively furious and feeling a kind of sweet, drowsy relief. He would kill Anu for this, but not until he'd hugged him a good long while.

Anu finally squirmed free, grinning, and bowed to Viktor as soon as Viktor had let him go from a bear hug. 'Majesty, prisoners.'

'Prisoners?'

Anu motioned a few sailors forward. They marched forward in formation and opened to reveal, like pearls in an oyster, a knot of prisoners, chained and Silenced.

'Five wolves, three aurors. And a Death Eater. I tried to get Wetherell but he was too quick.'

The crowd jeered as the prisoners were driven forth. The wolves were defiant, the aurors afraid. The man in the robes and mask was quiet, shaking like a dog in a storm, head down. His sleeve had been crudely ripped open to show his Mark. Draco ripped the mask off and cast it hence, soiled by the very touch of it on his skin.

'Travers. How lovely to see you again.'

And Draco, a feeling of great peace in his heart, drew back his head and spat directly in the man's face. It felt good.


	92. Chapter 92

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Major life changes a-brewin', y'all. Good intentions/vibrations/whatever else would be much appreciated :)**

Anu had never told anyone this, but the single happiest moment of his life to date was waking up between Viktor and Drago (though then they'd been Superintendent and Malfoy) on the borrowed Swedish ship. Not the happiest in terms of good things happening, precisely—he'd lost an eye four hours earlier, and had a pounding headache—but in sheer animal contentment that moment stuck out in his mind best.

He'd woken warm all over, in clothing that was soft and fitted him well, snuggled between two warm bodies. The ship had rocked soothingly, and the creaking, murmuring ship had seemed to him, in his drugged haze, to be like the talking of a familiar person nearby. And when he'd tried to move, Drago—Malfoy-had rolled sleepily and brought the covers up to Anu's chin to get him back to sleep.

This was close. Warm with victory he snuggled into Uncle Lucius, breathing deeply. The burn on his cheekbone throbbed and his good eye was a slit, nearly shut from the bruising. Uncle rubbed his back, squeezing with comforting pressure.

'Where are you hurt, Anu?'

'My cheek is burnt and my eye is blackened. But we got them!'

'You certainly did. Step back and I shall heal you.' Anu did and Uncle healed him, using a very large thumb to probe very carefully at the bones underneath to be sure nothing was broken.

'You saw Wetherell, then?'

'Wetherell, the Carrows, Travers and...the red-haired one. Not Gibbon, the fatter one.'

'Mmm...Wilkes is dead, so...I am not sure.'

'He had very little hair' said Anu, thinking back hard 'and sort of a twitchy look.' He had got very few good looks at the man, after all.

Uncle shook his head. 'Perhaps he has only recently been elevated. That might account for it. Ask Rodolphus, though. He might well know.'

Anu nodded. He was content to stay with Uncle and relax a bit longer but technically those were his prisoners and he had to see to them. He excused himself and went immediately to Paavo and Enver, who were watching their small band of enemies with twin expressions Anu had come to think of as presaging violence; eyes flat and hard, faces smooth, necks tight.

Paavo spoke first, with his hand, which is to say he cuffed Anu hard and then hugged him roughly, juggling his crutch so he could get a good hold on Anu. 'Damn it, Anu!'

'What?'

'I don't know if I should kill you or beat you savagely and then kill you!'

Anu laughed and hugged back. 'I'm admiral, Paavo. It's my job.'

'Thirteen damned years old!'

'So?'

Paavo growled and then let him go. 'That was a hell of a fight, kid.'

'Thanks. It was hard.'

'I bet. You hit anybody?'

'Two of them. I got the red-haired one and I stunned an auror. He fell off his broom. I don't think he made it.'

Paavo and Enver both tensed a little. 'Oh. Are you all right?'

'I don't know.' It was hitting him now, what had happened. He held onto Paavo a moment and then inhaled.

'It's too bad I had to kill him. Isn't it?'

'Yes' said Enver instantly, shoulders loosening. 'It is, but it was him or you, Anu.'

'It was. What do I...who do I talk to, do you think?'

'Find Krum and ask what his orders are. We might need scouts to find Dimnes fleet.'

Anu could do that. He nodded, relieved, and started to turn when Enver got his wrist. He turned; surprised as Enver cancelled the ward so they could speak Albanian.

'_Never do that again. For God's sake, Tamm, don't make me tell your mother how you died. I won't do it, do you hear me? I fucking won't.'_

_'Enver, someone had to. I'm the admiral. If I don't believe in us strongly enough to risk my life for the Empire, why should they?'_

_Enver nodded tightly, teeth gritted. 'You'll end up looking like me if you aren't careful.'_

_'You look fine, Enver.'_

_'My arse.'_

Anu shook his head at once._ 'No. People know why—what happened. Besides, I'm already missing an eye. It'd be a matched set.'_

_'Shut up! You got hurt!'_

_'Enver?'_

Enver hugged him, nearly knocking him off his feet. His lungs were making a whistling, laboured whine that lit Anu's brain up with worry._ 'Enver, are you breathing all right?'_

_'I'm fine.'_ Enver let him go. His lips, Anu noticed, had an odd grey-blue cast. He sucked air through his mouth like a winded animal.

_'Enver, you need to see a healer. We both will, all right?'_

_'I'm fine.'_

_'Your lips are blue.'_

_'Aren't.'_

_'Are.'_

_'Shut up.'_ Enver touched his lips reflexively and then shook his head._ 'It'll be fine.'_

_'Please?'_

_'No. No healer.'_

_'At least ask Healer Yokov or something. Please? I don't want to tell yours, either.'_

Enver touched the top of Anu's head lightly. '_What happens happens. Go get Krum. Just remember what I told you.'_

_'I will.'_

_'You'd better.'_

Viktor was talking to a group of men who looked sort of like Scabior but rougher. Anu reminded himself that he was an admiral and they couldn't tease him, so he stood taller and waited. The whole camp had been translation charmed, so that at least wasn't a problem. Anu's English was good but not excellent and this was no time to practice. People could die.

'What should we do with the prisoners?'

'Uncle will want to question them. Travers, specifically.'

Anu's mouth twisted. 'When the wolves hear we've got Travers they'll want to question him too.'

'Probably. We need to make sure he can testify when the time comes.'

'I was thinking perhaps we could send some of them home to Sofia. The fewer there are here the smaller the chances of someone trying to spring them.'

Viktor paused to consider. 'Yes, I think so. We'll send the aurors and the wolves. Perhaps save a wolf back. Travers stays, though.'

'Propaganda?'

Viktor smiled grimly. 'If we need to convince them we're serious...we can always record his testimony beforehand.' Anu understood what he meant and agreed with a single nod. It hardly bothered him at all.

People were gathering. The houses in better parts of Leeds were opening up and the inhabitants were coming toward the factory, calling for loved ones, trying to find food, wanting news. They bowed as Viktor passed. Anu heard a voice hiss 'Anu One-eye!'

He waved at the hiss, trying to find a smile. He couldn't. His face was as tired as the rest of him.

'What happened up there?'

Over the years a lot would be said about that skirmish. Dozens of books, hundreds of poems, scores of songs and paintings. Schoolchildren read about it in books. Singers wrote ballads about it. But this was the first time Anu ever told the story, and it was the simplest telling of them all.

'One of the men sighted the swarm. We couldn't let them attack those muggles so I brought us up. Are you angry?'

'As your cousin I could kill you where you stand. As the tsar, I am deeply impressed and pleased with you.'

Anu breathed out. 'The captains did most of it.'

'You led the skiffs that caught the prisoners, though?'

'Mcnair got away. I would've liked to have got Wetherell before he could do anything else.'

'Who wounded you?'

'He did. I think he wanted the other eye.' Anu reached up to brush the brow above his right eye without quite realising it. Wetherell, for all his sadism, was a poor shot. Thank God, thought Anu, and murmured a reverence that he still had his eye.

'What happened next?'

Anu closed his eye and began to recite, and what he recited was this:

_When the shout came the response was immediate. Anu, perched in the rigging to better watch for trouble, jerked his head up, compensating automatically for his reduced peripheral vision. The swarm was moving in, low and fast, blighting everything they touched as they moved north toward the muggle city._

_'Captain!'_

_Iverson was right below as Anu simply dropped, using his wand to cushion his descent. 'We need to help them, hurry!'_

_Captain Iverson nodded. The skiffs were in the air less than a minute later, moving quickly, sailors ringing the edges, wands in hand. The captain steered them right toward the heart of the swarm_**_._**

_Anu felt his hands begin to tremble. His knees were knocking. His wand felt slick in his hand. He closed around it and prayed, eye shut._

_They were nearly in the heart of the swarm. 'Talk to them lad.'_

_'M-me? All right. I, uh...SAILORS...' His mind was blank and he swallowed, afraid of looking stupid. Well, he'd look stupider if he didn't say anything. What would Drago do, aside from being cross he'd ordered the skiffs up without telling anyone?_

_'ALL OF US HAVE GOT PEOPLE ON THE GROUND, IF NOT HERE THAN ELSEWHERE. THINK OF THEM WHEN WE'RE FIGHTING. BECAUSE IF WE DON'T STOP THESE THINGS NOW, THEY COULD BE IN STOCKHOLM IN A FEW DAY'S TIME. THESE MUGGLES NEED OUR HELP, AND WE WILL BECAUSE IT'S RIGHT, BUT REMEMBER THAT. ABOUT STOCKHOLM, I MEAN.'_

_The sailors didn't cheer but they did nod, and someone clapped Anu's shoulder on the bad side, so he couldn't see which it was. It didn't matter, really. They were all in this together._

_Beside him a sailor cleared his throat. 'There do I see my father and my mother.'_

_The man beside him took it up. 'There do I see my brothers and my sisters.'_

_'They call my name and bid me join them.' The rest of the crew joined in. The captain finished it without missing a beat, even as he steered the skiffs._

_'In the halls of Valhalla, where the brave will live forever.'_

_Then they were in the swarm. Anu could see nothing in the mass of limbs and terribly blank faces. The sailors raised their wands and began to drive the swarm away from the muggle areas and toward the sea._

_Anu saw them even through the haze of cold and darkness the Dementors brought with them like a rotting shroud. A small knot of brooms creeping low toward the south and London. He raised his own wand and concentrated hard. 'Lumos Maxima!'_

_The light cut through the swarm but only for a second. It glinted off a silver mask and then Anu knew. 'Death Eaters to starboard! Six skiffs, with me! Ladder formation!' The skiff rose straight up, shaking off Dementors like wet dogs and then dove for the brooms, sleek as a panther._

_As the skiffs moved half of them broke and dropped, losing altitude in order to get under the enemy to prevent them vanishing. The other three formed a triangle as soon as they were in range of the brooms and gained altitude to get above them, forming a kill-zone between the two layers of skiffs._

_There were fewer than a dozen men and a single woman. In the midst of it all a man Anu took to be Wetherell Mcnair was fighting but clumsily, aiming badly in his excitement. His lips were drawn back from his teeth like a snarling animal's and his mask was pushed back on his head. He tried to move and found himself hemmed in all round._

_'SURRENDER OR DIE, MCNAIR.'_

_'FUCK YOU, YOU ALBANIAN SON OF A WHORE!'_

_Anu was not as angry as he would have been otherwise, though. Who cared what someone like Mcnair thought? He leant over, aimed and fired with all his strength. Mcnair wavered on his broom but stayed up, still firing._

_The skiffs pulled back just enough for sailors to start firing chains at the people in the middle, trying to incarcerate them so they couldn't Apparate. Anu kept firing, dodging chains and concentrating on the Death Eaters._

_Mcnair suddenly grinned. He cocked back his arm and then Anu's head went back at the force of the jinx, cheek burning. His eye watered but he made himself keep firing, swearing constantly under his breath in a low monotone._

_A low shout of triumph went up as a few wolves were chained, a handful of aurors. Anu kept firing, grimly determined even as another hex hit the area beside his eye. He was firing as much on instinct and luck as anything else. An auror tried to break through the ring and Anu fired at him. The man fell swiftly out of sight, and Anu marked it distantly, like it had happened to someone else, that he had killed someone._

_Mcnair was still, from what Anu could tell, grinning. 'NOT BAD, BASTARD. NOT BAD AT ALL.'_

_'WE'RE COMING FOR YOU, MCNAIR.'_

'_WE'LL SEE.' He touched something—a necklace?-and then vanished. At the last possible second a squat little masked man grabbed the tail of his broom and went with him in a flash of greasy, badly fitting robes. The Carrows went next, and a few others, until just the one was left, scrabbling helplessly for something concealed in his clothing._

_Anu let his body snap forward and then took aim, hardly able to see. God, guide my hand, he prayed, and then let fly. 'Serpentsortia!'_

_A snake flew from the end of his wand and hit the Death Eater in the the face. The man screamed, beating at the snake with his hands, and then a chain latched on him and he was dangling helplessly behind, caught as the others._

_Anu shouted at the man next to him. 'Is it over?'_

_'We've got them, Admiral!'_

_'The Dementors?'_

_'Dispersing.'_

_'Bring the Death Eater in. I'd like to see him.'_

_The man was shaking. Anu's stomach curdled at the sight of him, shaking like a beaten dog. He reached up and took the mask off. 'Who are you?'_

_The man didn't answer. Anu spared a thought to the fact that Nene would not like it if he hit someone before he drove his fist into the man's stomach._ _'Your name, sir?'_

_'Ch-charles Wilkes.'_

_'Wilkes is dead. My uncle killed him.'_

_'Jonas Avery.'_

_Anu drove his fist in again, suddenly angry. These people had done repulsive things, terrible things. Slughorn had tried to** rape** him and this bastard couldn't even admit who he was?_

_'Does anyone know this man?'_

_A sailor touched his arm. 'My lord, if he won't tell us then the prisoners will know. We'll just ask them.'_

_'That's true. Thank you, Lars.'_

_He turned his whole body, virtually blinded. 'Josua, Hilding, chain him to the broom and bring him in after us. That might help him remember whom he is.'_

_It took them a long time to get back to the ground, and a longer time to get to the factory. Drago pounced him on sight, hugging him hard._

_'I'll beat the hide off of you!'_

_Anu breathed deeply. He was safe. He was home. And he had a Death Eater as a captive. So he let Drago hold on another minute and then stepped back, grinning..._

Viktor nodded. 'You did well, Anu. I am proud of you.'

Anu dipped his head. 'It didn't feel too good, Viktor.'

'No. That will pass, though.'

'I hope it doesn't. It shouldn't ever feel all right to...' Anu hoped he had not given offense. Viktor touched his shoulder, nodding.

'Hey, kiddo. Hear you've had an adventure.'

Anu's head whipped round and he beamed. 'Baba?'

Baba Sirius opened his arms and Anu ran to him and hugged. 'Thank God you're here!'

'Your mother's on her way. What happened, kiddo?'

Anu shocked himself because he had thought he was calm but he wasn't. He opened his mouth to explain and burst into tears.

Rodolphus poured more water for the toothless lady in front of him, not well. He had very little experience in pouring for himself, after all, let alone anyone else. She smiled at him, eyes filmed with cataracts, and sipped.

'She's gone, your girl?'

'She's coming back, madam.'

'Ah, good. I had five.'

'Girls?'

'Oh, aye. One of them's about. Maggs, her name is.'

Rodolphus poured her a bit more water and then excused himself as Draco bustled up. 'Uncle, we need you.'

'Is something wrong?'

'We've got Travers.'

'What?'

'Metellus Travers. Anu captured him.'

Rodolphus exhaled, relieved that was all it was. 'Is he talking?'

Draco looked grim. 'Not quite yet.'

'He will be. Where are the prisoners?'

'Most of them are going back to Sofia. Travers is staying here.'

Rodolphus nodded. 'Word of Scabior?'

'Still in York. Fighting is going strong but the aurors aren't doing all that well. When we've got word of Hermione we're off to relieve them.'

Hermione. His little girl was out there, and whilst she didn't seem to need him much these days he wanted to be there with her. He dipped his head, wishing he could explain to his nephew how huge the pain of her absence was, how he felt the lack of her every day that his choices had robbed them of.

There was a commotion from the other end of the factory. A group of citizens had approached and was shouting. Rodolphus saw Bellatrix tense, going for her wand as everyone else did the same. Lucius was coming toward them, own wand held in defense position.

'Yes?'

'Who is in charge here?'

'That would be the tsar. And you would be?'

'Neopotolemus Ledbetter, mayor of Leeds. You are Lucius Malfoy?'

'I am.'

'Where is the tsar, sir? I would have a word.'

'You would, would you? Mayor Ledbetter, you will wait.'

'I cannot see how-'

Rodolphus smiled at his brother-in-law and yielded to his desire to have a bit of fun with this ass. Draco seemed to feel it too, and the three of them stared at the mayor.

'I can see how.'

'I demand to-'

Draco cleared his throat. 'Demand nothing, sir. You will wait.'

The mayor took sight of him and seemed to swell. 'You had my city bombed!'

'I had your city saved. What would you have done, with those things ravening through the streets and no help forthcoming?'

'We might have held if you had not-'

'Tried to save lives? The people down here are unguarded and without the benefits of wards to protect themselves.'

'That is hardly the-'

Draco's face changed subtly. 'What is the point, then? Do tell, what is the point?'

'A great many people have been discommoded by this, and what shall we do if those things come back?'

'Your homes are still warded, are they not?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Good. Mr. Doakes?'

Doakes dragged himself toward them. 'Milord?'

'Your people will shelter with these...concerned citizens.'

Everyone seemed dumbfounded. 'W-what?'

'You've said you're the mayor, sir. These are your people, and your concern that something might happen is valid. So you and your friends will protect these people who've lost their homes until such a time that we might find them somewhere else to live.'

Ledbetter looked ready to cry. 'But I cannot possibly—just look at them!'

'I have. But a public servant is precisely that, and you have failed shockingly in that regard.'

'But these people will steal me blind!'

'Why would they want anything the likes of you had touched?' Draco's lip curled in disgust as he sounded shockingly Lucius-like.

'I must insist-'

'I suggest you don't. I am in no mood for this puerile pissing contest.'

'How dare you-'

Draco reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. 'Because I'm DRAGO BLEEDING TRAITORSBANE. Is that clear enough? Now, do you have elves? All of you, elves?'

Nods, increasingly nervous now. Draco nodded once. 'Good. Bring them and have them take these people to your houses. And God help you—God help you—if they are abused, insulted, harassed or reviled in any way. I will check.'

'Then come back here, the lot of you. Bring your families and whoever is cowering in those houses. I'll check that too, so don't try to hide anyone. Children under sixteen and people over seventy-five are excused, also ladies in the family way and the infirm.'

'To what cause?'

Draco was casual. 'You saw fit to let these people go without protection. A lot of them died. Or worse than died. You'll collect them and load them into the transports. Then you'll help with putting out the fires that remain, and bringing water for your guests to drink. Sorting clothes. Organising medical care. Writing letters for them. You will serve them, Mayor, and you will say nothing against it, do you understand?'

The mayor nodded, looking shocked. 'I, er...'

'Hurry now, those things could be back any time.'

The men waited for the shell-shocked citizens of Leeds to shuffle off before they started to laugh. Rodolphus clapped his shoulder and ruffled his hair quickly, shaking his head fondly.

'Well done, Draco.'

'I don't like officious little shi—berks like that.'

'Nor I. Where is Travers being held?'

Draco snorted. 'Aunt Trixie had an idea about that, actually.'

'He **is** alive, isn't he?'

Lucius laughed and tried to make a cough a beat too late. 'It is rather impressive, I thought.'

Impressive was a good word for it. Bellatrix had conjured a large, stout pole in the midst of the secured courtyard. Travers was manacled to it such that he was facing outward, ringed by hostile faces. He was covered in a film of saliva and garbage. As Rodolphus watched, a slimy, rotted cabbage sailed over their heads and smacked Travers upside his. The crowd cheered.

'Hello, Rodolphus!'

'Trixie, darling, is he warded?'

'Somewhat. I've quite forgot how to make them totally impermeable, though. Oops!' She grinned, eyes crinkling at the corner, and Rodolphus bent to steal a kiss as he straightened up and regarded their former colleague impassively.

'I'm to take him.'

Bellatrix braced her hand to her lower back. 'The flagship?'

'For the moment. Would you like to come?'

'I think I would. Never did like Metellus much, did you?'

'No.'

Paavo stumped up to join them. 'Ship is ready for us, Uncle.'

'It's soundproofed?'

'I did some extra just in case.'

'Good lad. Good evening, Metellus.'

Metellus raised his head. A little slime dripped down the bridge of his nose. 'Rodolphus, Bellatrix...lad.'

'Paavo Kask.'

'Right, Kask.'

'It would seem' said Rodolphus after a careful pause 'that you've been quite a busy fellow, Metellus.'

'You've got it all wrong, Rodolphus! I was with you this whole time!'

'Really?'

Metellus nodded. 'Yes, yes! I wouldn't have done it, I swear!

'That's not what our informers told us. Rita seems to believe you were quite keen to test your new toy against those people in Whitnell.'

'They were just stupid muggles! What could I do when He wanted a test?'

Paavo's voice was very calm. 'Told him no. Mr. Travers, you might have told him no.'

'Easy for you to say! Have you seen what He is capable of?'

'I have.'

'He'd have had me killed!'

'Probably. Some things really are worse than death. You're the greatest mass-murderer of our time.'

'More than your nephew? Tell me, Rodolphus, what about what Malfoy Jr did just now? What about those poor children from Dur-'

Rodolphus didn't see Paavo move. Rather, he saw the younger man shift slightly and then the top of his crutch was flying at Traver's face. Something shattered with a wet crump. Paavo was breathing hard.

'Motherfucker, I'll kill you. Say it again. Say it again. Fucking pimp! You sold those girls to their deaths!'

Metellus snorted blood, blubbering wetly. 'Do! Do! It wadn't be!'

'Liar! You strangled that girl and that poor kid to death! You fed those people to those fucking things! You almost cost my kid his life!'

'Do! Do! Greyback! E did id!'

'LIAR!'

Rodolphus took Paavo's arm firmly. 'No. We'll take him in the ship, Paavo, and talk there. All right?'

There were tears in Paavo's eyes. 'Sorry. Sorry.'

'Bellatrix, could you load Travers for us?'

'I'd be glad to. Cissy, Meddie, help me with this.' The three former Black sisters clustered about Travers, looking scarily alike as Bellatrix unhooked the man and they escorted him to the soundproofed hold of the flagship.

'Paavo?'

Paavo swallowed and cast a Silencing bubble. 'Little Paavo... look.' He reached into his tunic and pulled out a picture. The Paavos grinned and waved up at the person taking the picture. Big Paavo had his crutch and Little Paavo, beaming, had a stick held carefully under his arm.

'He took it from the ground and walked about with it because he wants to be just like me.'

'He loves you very much.'

'I know. I just think about what happened there...in Wales...and everything else...and I want to hurt him.'

'So do I, but we need him. He'll have his day, I promise you that.'

'I know. I'm sorry. I snapped.'

'Can you do this?'

'I think so.'

'Good lad. Anything else?'

'Enver's not breathing well. He's trying to hide it but his lips are blue.'

'Blue?'

'Blue-ish. He'll never go back. He's got his heels dug in.'

Rodolphus frowned a bit, trying to work out an answer to this question. 'Let me work on this a bit.'

The two of them went to question Travers, and wait for word of Dimnes fleet.


	93. Chapter 93

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Language note: 'Swedes' is the British word for rutabagas. **

**Also, there's a 'Let me do deeds...' is a quote from Homer.**

The Dark Lord was troubled. He stood at His window and brooded, head down. The defeat over Leeds was not only a loss but a baffling loss. He leant against the cool glass and breathed, wondering if His secret weapon had been corralled yet. He hoped so.

Norfolk. He tasted the name on His tongue and found it good. Site of the glorious battle to come, site of His newest triumph-to-be, the place where He would smash the little lestrange whore and her hateful ox-like husband, treacherous malfoy and his father, the little cripple boy. Smash them, he thought, enjoying the tactile sensation, rolling the word round his mouth like it was too hot to swallow.

'wetherell? alecto?'

His Death Eaters came to Him and bowed low. The Dark Lord moved to flop into His chair and waited for his minions to give Him their thoughts on the disaster of Leeds. Alecto spoke first, biting-on-tinfoil voice unusually soft.

'metellus is captured, my Lord.'

'Is he?'

'The albanian boy somehow got the chains round him before he could portkey.'

'Unfortunate, that. Your father, wetherell?'

'Fine, my Lord. A broken wrist, unfortunately but it's already been healed.'

'Excellent. What happened?'

mcnair's flat eyes flashed. 'We directed the swarm north to cover our re...our withdrawl. The cyclops somehow got their skiffs up and then pursued us. We lost a handful of people but no one aside from travers who matters.'

'Mmm, quite. The rest of our forces?'

'Directed to protect the capital per Your Lordship's orders.'

'Good. The children?'

'The wolves are set to retrieve them at Your Lordship's command.'

'We expect metellus cannot see to it, so wetherell, you must step up.'

'Yes, My Lord.'

'Good. Where is metellus, incidentally? Dead?'

'Taken. Last I saw of him he was being hauled behind the skiffs.'

'He will talk, We are sure of it.'

'Unless we made sure he couldn't, My Lord.'

'How so?'

Young mcnair stretched, spine popping. 'Surely we could find a way to...free metellus from pain, Master.'

'We shall think on it, surely. For now, the troops not defending Our capital must go to norfolk.'

'My Lord?'

'We must meet them in the field. The girl has been sighted in the Orkneys, and the rest of them are currently occupying Leeds. We believe Norfolk is a good middle ground to bring them together, is it not? We can smash them all at once, rather than in two separate battles.'

His two servants exchanged a look. 'Master, if it is not too bold...'

'Go on, alecto.'

'Are we strong enough to split our forces? Our capital is vulnerable and our forces may not be able to do both at one time.'

'Of course they shall. A single decisive battle will be enough. One Briton is worth ten of their slavic horde.'

'Their fleet is quite sizable, My Lord.'

'Yes but we've something they do not have.'

'Master?'

'We have our resolve to bolster us. And the dragons, wetherell?'

'A dozen at least, led by an Ironbelly matriarch.' Young mcnair shifted uncomfortably, head down. His flat eyes were drifting about the room. The Dark Lord stood up and reached lazily for his wand, toying with it.

'And the girl?'

'We were far from her, My Lord. But it seemed as if she could...we could feel her.'

'Feel her?'

'And them. The dragons. She somehow...somehow used them to...draw the swarm off.'

'Draw it off?'

'She, ah...somehow...alecto?'

alecto shifted. 'It seemed like perhaps the girl somehow drew on the dragon-magic to produce a...ball of...good feelings that drew the swarm, and then simply flew off with them.'

The Dark Lord nodded slowly. 'We see.' And He did. Perhaps this would be a bit harder than He might have thought. He would worry about that later, though. For now he had to concentrate on His glorious victory-to-be in Norfolk.

'Bring everyone together in the Hall, we must address our troops. And wetherell?'

Young mcnair bowed a bit more. The Dark Lord was well-pleased. ''You may take the children now.'

Lemuel Scabior, leagues to the south, was also thinking about children. Specifically, he was thinking about a scrawny boy named Jack who, at nine, was in constant pain from his rotted teeth. The boy rose shakily and went to the ad-hoc blackboard.

'The d-d-awg runs th-roo the street bec-awz e took a saw-sage from the butcha's.'

The other children and growing collection of adults clapped delightedly. 'Well done, lad.'

Young Jack dipped his head. 'S'nuthin.'

'Naw, naw.' Scabior cuffed him, grinning, and the boy grinned back, gap-toothed. Another child's hand shot up and Scabior nodded to her.

'Then e run—ran-throo the streets to where e live-lived.'

'Gud, Gemma, gud. Well dun.'

Scabior caught sight of Jos, lingering in the doorway. 'Them oo lissen at knot'oles'll never ear gud a themselves.'

'Word from Leeds.'

Scabior excused himself, leaving a semi-literate tough to help the children—and the furtive yet growing group of adults—struggle through the next sentences. Jos was flushed, shifting from one foot to the other with excitement.

'They're on the way.'

Outside the dull crump of the aurors' artillery was fading a little. Scabior took the letter and read it. It was Malfoy Jr's small, neat script. 'Scabior—on our way. Leeds subdued. What do you need?'

Scabior wrote a quick note back. He hated his own hand. It scrawled sloppily, like it was drunk. Jack wrote more nicely than he did, and Yana Krum.

'Deere my lorde,

Pleese bring us poshuns, bandeges, moar food and watter enough for sevril hundrid. The aurors have stopt tryeng to get in so muche but it mite wel be a ploi. Pleese be carful and give my most respeckful reegards to theyr Majisties, and to my luving wif. Also yer parents, Lestrange and the missus and everyon els.

Yors,

Lemuel Scabior'

Jos took it and went to find the elf it had come with. There was a brief flare of activity from the aurors and then it trailed off, sounding oddly defeated. Scabior signaled a few of the men standing about the edges of the wards and then carefully ascended the barricades, waving.

'OI THERE!'

'IS THIS SCABIOR?'

'IN THE FLESH. WHAT'S DOINS?'

The auror sounded like she had not slept in a long time. 'PARLEY.'

'YOU COME T ME AND WE'LL TALK.'

The air shifted. The smells of Bog's Close seemed to fade. From his perch he could see knots of men and women, wands down. He suspected most of them had not slept or eaten in a long time. He put his wand down and called to the closest person.

'Oi, Rafe, gets me a basket a them vegetables what went over.'

'Ow much?'

'Enuff. Mebbe they'll lissen to us if we lets em know we aint in no urry t end this thin.'

The woman brought what he'd asked and Scabior raised his wand again. 'UNGRY?'

Shuffling, muttering. 'WE'RE FINE.'

'TSAR'LL BE ERE IN A CUP'LA OURS AT BEST. WHY AINT THE DARK LORD COME FER YOU YET?'

More shifting. 'HE WILL.'

'AINT GUNNA.'

'YES, HE WILL.'

'NAW.'

'HE WILL TOO!' A childish, petulant edge crept into the auror's voice as she finally began to break under the strain.

'THEN WHY AINT E EAR?'

Scabior called a few others up with him and handed out their ammunition. Slimy swedes, slightly wilted cabbages, potatoes with bad spots and a slightly rotten smell. He put his arm back and threw a swede down to the aurors. A rain of vegetables followed.

'WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?'

'IF YER UNGRY, WE'LL SHARE. BUT I MEANT WHAT I SEZ JUS NOW. TSAR'S COMIN. IF YOU SURRENDER, MALFOY WON'T AVE TO BOMBARD YORK.'

There was a brief, profanity-laced scuffle. A different auror took over talking. 'HOW DO WE KNOW YOU'RE TELLING THE TRUTH, THEN?'

'AVE TO TRUST ME, WONT YOU?'

'GIVE US SOME PROOF AND WE'LL SURRENDER.'

'LIKE WHAT?'

Scabior laughed. 'Ear that, Jos?'

'Surely do.'

'We'll lets em marinate on that a tick, yeah?'

'Sunderland fleet's about an hour out.'

'Sounds gud.' Scabior climbed down and went to teach some children to read.

The fleet made a sound as it approached. At first it was a little like a train, a low, gut-rattling shake. As they got closer the sound grew, the snap of the sails and the shouts of the sailors. Scabior stood up on the barricade and raised his wand.

'IMPERIAL FLEET!'

'IS THAT SCABIOR?'

'IT IS, MILORD.'

'PROVE IT.' Tamm sounded older than when Scabior had seen him last, and more tired. Scabior could see Malfoy Jr, too, and then his own dear wife's head.

'ME WIFE'S UP THERE. ALISE, DUCK, REMEMBER WHEN CHUM BURROWED IN YER CAKE AN ATE THE CREAM IN THE MIDDLE?'

'IT'S LEM.'

The aurors had their turn next. 'IMPERIAL FLEET, THIS IS ALICIA SPINNET.'

'SPINNET FROM GRYFFINDOR?'

'YES, THAT'S RIGHT.'

'THIS IS MALFOY.'

'I AM AUTHORISED TO TREAT WITH YOUR GRACE. WHAT MUST WE DO TO AVOID A SACK OF THIS CITY?'

'SURRENDER IT TO US.'

'THERE ARE NO OTHER TERMS?'

'NONE. SURRENDER OR YORK WILL BURN LIKE LEEDS DID.'

'WE HAVE WORD FROM THE DARK LORD.'

'WHAT DOES HE SAY?'

'THAT HE CANNOT REINFORCE US. THERE ARE NO TROOPS COMING. MANY OF MY COMRADES ARE SICK OR INJURED. WE NEED WATER AND POTIONS.'

'FOOD?'

'SCABIOR GAVE US SOME JUST NOW.'

Scabior interrupted. 'ALL YOU AD TO EAT ALL THIS TIME IS ROTTED VEG?'

'ONCE OUR SUPPLIES RAN OUT, YES.'

'FUCK ME. THIS IS WORTH DYIN FER, SPINNET?'

Spinnet hesitated. 'SOME OF US HAVE LOVED ONES IN VARIOUS PLACES. COULD YOU HELP US PROTECT THEM?'

'WE WILL TRY, SPINNET. YOU'VE MY WORD ON THAT. WE WILL TRY.'

'THEN THE CITY IS YOURS, MALFOY.'

'YOU'RE SURRENDERING?'

'YES. AURORS, DROP YOUR WANDS AND KNEEL.'

Lines went down and aurors went to seize the prisoners. The people inside Bog's Close cheered as more lines came down and the first aurors touched ground. Someone disabled the wards, and just like that, York had fallen. They had won. There was no sign of Dimnes fleet—Scabior shoved down his worry to slip nimbly down the barricade and meet the people coming off the flagship. 'Ello, yer Majesty. Yer Grace. Ow's doins?'

The tsar smiled a bit. 'Oh, nothing much. Just ve came to visit you.'

'Preciate it. Ere's aurors, looks like.'

A ragged team of aurors was being herded into the courtyard. Hands up, they shuffled along, hardly raising their eyes. Scabior approached.

'Spinnet?'

'Yes?'

'Oo was it I was talkin to earlier?'

'Rose Marshall.'

'She dead?'

'Stunned.'

'What appened?'

Spinnet's pretty, tired face lit up briefly. 'I knocked her out. She was muttering about Thermopylae and making a stand.'

'Gud for you, girl.'

'Spinnet?' Young Malfoy. He looked awful, eyes ringed, face covered lightly with stubble. He blinked tiredly.

'Malfoy? My lord?'

'Why are you here?'

'They called us up. Everyone eighteen to sixty-eight. I was training with the Harpies a week ago.'

'What about Hogwarts?'

Spinnet made a hurt noise in her throat. 'I was only there a few minutes but it was...bad.'

'Bad how?'

Spinnet shook her head. 'Wetherell Mcnair.'

'Ah.'

Scabior looked round and then saw Alise standing next to Vaike Kask, grinning. Scabior nearly ran to her side, almost lifting her in his glee. 'Duck! I missed you!'

'I miss you too!' She hugged his neck, breathing deeply.

'Ear you bin busy.'

She squirmed a bit so he'd release her and then showed him the knife he'd left her, tucked into her belt. He chucked her under the chin, delighted at her boldness and skill. 'S'my girl.'

'Ve should talk in private.'

Scabior grinned. 'Bin a long time.'

'Yes!' She said it softly but very firmly and Vaike Kask tried to turn her laugh into a cough._'*I need to go see my mother-in-law, excuse me. Would an hour be enough time?*'_

'Yes, thank you.' Alise somehow managed to sound prim about it even as they turned so Lem could lead her into the bowels of Bog's Close.

By the time they'd finished talking, word had come from Northhampton that the aurors had yielded and gone over. More cheering. Scabior finally found a moment to speak to Lestrange, who looked, unusually, a touch worried.

'Ello, Boss.'

'Scabior, how are you?'

Scabior gave what was perhaps the single most honest answer he might have given. 'We gots a class now. Forty kids, and all of em kin writes their own names.'

Lestrange smiled a bit. 'Well done.'

'I feels like thins are changin ere, Boss.'

'I believe so. Perhaps there is hope, after all, in the world.'

'Course there is, Boss. Course there is.' But Scabior cast his eyes up and found himself looking for dragons.

Snape arrived at the encampment in York shortly after Sunderland fleet. He had a heavily-Disillusioned Grindelwald with him. Tamm met him, nearly flinging himself, and then dragged him by force to Vata, blue-faced and struggling for air, leant against a wall of the dormitory on the ship.

'Vata, what is this?'

Vata sat up, still breathing hard. 'I'm...fine. Needed a...break. Feel all right.'

'Liar. Your lungs are seizing.'

'Yes. They...are.'

Snape sat down and took the boy's wrist. His skin was cool and his pulse sluggish. Snape tried his neck as well, and then pressed his head to the lad's chest. He could hear the high whistling even before his head was against the rough wool of Vata's tunic.

'How long?'

Vata shook his head. 'Tamm...out.'

Tamm shook his head. 'You might need something, Enver.'

' I ...don't want you to hear this. None of... you. Understand?'

'Please go back. I'll take you whenever you want.'

'Out.'

Snape settled the boy on the bunk. His lungs were rasping. 'Well?'

'Since...yesterday...mid-day. The cold. Too much smoke.'

'Tamm is right, you need to go back.'

'No!' Vata's grip was very strong as he clasped Snape's arm. 'I'm...staying.'

'Your lungs will not tolerate it.'

'No? What about...next winter? Next bad cold?'

Snape touched the lad's brow. 'No one can see the future.'

'You...can. I...can. How long can I live...this way? A bad cold...could take me.'

Snape shook his head stubbornly. 'Of course not. You are young and strong.'

'I see...them as I sleep. Lines of them.'

'Lines of whom?'

'The dead. They call me. My place is ready now.'

'Don't be stupid. Everyone has dreams, Mr. Vata.'

'No.' Vata looked terribly sad. 'Not like...this.'

'It is possible your life will be shorter than some, perhaps. But if we sent you back-'

Vata's grip was impossibly strong on his arm. 'Death is...with us all. Let me...face him bravely...and do some deed...which men will sing of. Every man must...dance to his tune. Let me...lead.'

'Quoting Vasilys of Minsk to me will not sway my opinion. You are aware that your death will kill Mr. Galca? Quite literally?'

'Costin and I...will ride the ferry together. You...have to know that.'

'Your parents?'

'They would be...glad for me to...die serving Albania.'

'Not more glad than of a living son, I promise you that. You are no Spartan, Mr. Vata, to return upon your shield.'

'No...Spartan. A...Thespian, perhaps.'

'Not even a Corinthian. What about Mr. Kask?'

'Paavo will be fine. He...always is.'

'No. He is not forthcoming with things but he would be devastated by your death.'

'Paavo understands. Of all people...he knows...it was borrowed time...is all.'

Snape felt faintly sick. 'You are an adult, Mr. Vata. This is what you choose?'

'Yes.'

'If you should change your mind...'

'No.'

'I can give you something to help you feel more comfortable.'

'I'd... appreciate it.'

Snape couldn't fix Vata's lungs. The lad had made his choice. But a little lobelia infusion would ease the spasm enough for him to breathe. For a little while, and sometimes that has to be enough, so it is.

He felt them before they came into view. A flight of dragons, led by a white matriarch, keeping pace with the ship at the front, the girl standing at the prow like a figurehead, hair blowing in the wind. The ships touched down and the dragons with it, ringing the outside. The girl jumped down, cushioning her fall with a charm, and simply walked toward the matriarch. She touched the great snout with easy familiarity and the dragon allowed it, snorting smoke as if in commentary.

Snape was holding his breath. Luan Ismaili, who'd had questions about an old woman's infected tooth, stopped dead, mouth open to speak. The girl turned slowly, back to them, and walked so she was facing the dragons until she was out of range. Then she turned and ran to the lad, arms up. He caught her and spun, face in her hair. Her skin was smoking very slightly in the cold air. Ismaili bowed and then melted away discreetly.

Snape approached. 'Majesties?'

'Professor Snape!' She felt hot to the touch. Not feverish, not exactly. More like a soft radiant heat that leaked from every pore like an oven. She beamed up and hugged him hard.

'I'm glad you're here!'

'As am I. Our mission was success. Your cousin Black is with our friend in the hold of the Zhivka.'

'Thank you, sir.' She released him and stepped back. 'Old Mother is curious about you both.'

'Old Mother?'

'The matriarch.'

Snape blinked. 'She...told you this?'

'Not in words.'

'Then how, Majesty?'

The girl nibbled her lip as if reaching for a word. 'Her mind and mine.'

'Telepathy?'

'No, of course not. It's more like legilimency.' She said it as if this was the most natural thing in the world, that she had just announced that she could somehow be inside the dragon's mind and vice-versa.

'Perhaps we could discuss this a bit, Majesty?'

'If you'd like to. She doesn't mind waiting.'

'They have eaten soon?' The lad sounded rightly concerned, as his eyes followed a group of urchins playing a distance away.

'Lately. And yes. We owe a farmer a flock of sheep, though. One of the captains recorded the location so we can pay the family who owned them.'

'Good idea.'

She touched his arm lightly. 'Where are Mother and Father, Viktor?'

'Vaiting for you. Ve vere so vorried.'

'Don't be. We were trying to get the swarms we passed, that's all.'

'How it vent on Dimnes?'

'Fairly well but we'll have to be vigilant a long time. What about here?'

Krum filled her in, concluding with Tamm's capture of Travers. The girl laughed out loud, shaking her head.

'Good for Anu!'

'I thought Drago vould kill him vhen he landed.'

'All of us.'

'Vhatever vas left after Drago was finished.'

Bellatrix was running toward them, hair flying in the wind. She nearly pounced her daughter, hugging her with desperate force. 'Girl! How did it go?'

'Well, Mother.' Suddenly the girl cocked her head and laughed. 'Old Mother likes you.'

'I like her as well' said Bellatrix, as if this was a normal thing to comment on 'but she'll understand if you come in, surely?'

'Of course. The flight is content to rest a while.'

Snape spared the dragons another look and then followed. Lily, he thought, my heart can't take this. Perhaps this is more a 'Mum' thing? He heard a soft giggle and bit down on a smile himself. They'd do it as a team, of course, like always.

It took until almost midnight for Snape to have time to talk to the girl alone. He made her let him feel her glands, take her temperature, and then just sat in silence a moment. 'Dragons.'

'Dragons. Come meet her with me?'

'Old Mother?'

'Yes.'

Snape took her face lightly in his hands. 'I cannot, child. No one may do that and live. Aside from yourself, of course.'

'She wouldn't hurt you.'

'She wouldn't hurt **you**. If she spared me it would be for your sake.'

The girl frowned, clearly trying to formulate a rebuttal. 'She's asked about you.'

'I am curious about that. Could you explain?'

'May I show you?'

Snape nodded and lowered his mental shields as the girl's wand came up. 'No exploring, girl.'

'None' she promised, and then Snape was wide-eyed under the onslaught of a consciousness that made his whole mind groan under the weight of it. The vastness...the sheer history of it...images flooded his mind, whirling past with sickening speed. Snape gasped, fighting to retain himself in the midst of this onslaught.

'Professor?'

'Every time? It is like that every time?'

'Yes.' She seemed surprised he'd asked. 'It was frightening at first, of course, but not now. Too much.' That impish smile seemed bizarre in contrast to what he had seen in the sea of her mind.

'Explain.'

She did, telling him about her trip under the water. Snape found himself feeling as if he was not getting quite enough air, like Vata. His mind felt untethered from his body as he processed what she was telling him and how to help her see what she was now, and what it meant.

'That must have been quite an intense experience.'

'At the time. It's easier every time now. Except...'

'Except?'

'Sometimes it's hard to know which one I am. The girl or the dragon, I mean.'

Snape delicately sucked in a breath. 'Ah.'

'It's harder' said the girl pensively, gnawing her lip 'when my shields are down. I don't always know that she's going to do it and it feels like...it's a shock.'

I wager it is, thought Snape, but what he said was 'What you showed me—shields up or shields down.'

'Up.'

'They were **up** and that was what you saw?'

'Yes, sir.'

Snape's throat felt lined in lead. '...I see.'

'Professor?' Her eyes were big and liquid, but he could see the fear in them, and felt it in himself. He was afraid for her. Of her.


	94. Chapter 94

**A/N: Love to reviewers, signofthetimes and CB.**

**Sorry things are taking so long, everyone. It's majorly hectic here right now but in a good way. Hope everybody is well :D**

Ronald Weasley pounded down the corridor, feet sending shockwaves up his legs as he raced toward the corridors, ducking and weaving to avoid his face being seen. He could sense elves above him, keeping pace, ready to snatch him should the need arise.

The courtyards were in a panic. Screaming children huddled against the walls as wolves waded in, trying to grab whomever they could reach. Ron plunged into the fray, trying to get the children clear of the elves' attack radius.

'Elves, get children! Hurry!'

The elves made themselves visible. Dozens of them flew at the wolves, snatching children from their arms as the wolves roared, slashing with filthy nails. Ron dove into the churning mass of children.

'Scream and vrun! Make loud noise! They take us, hurry!'

It took very little to encourage chaos. Children scattered, pouring from the doors and flying in every direction. Above them the elves were arranged in a rough line, Kreacher acting as general.

'DEFEND THE CHILDREN! KILL THE WOLVES!'

An elf in a tea-towel appeared with a scythe, screeching madly as he plunged in, severing heads and limbs as he wreaked havoc on his foes. Others appeared with lit candles, sending balls of flame at the wolves, who roared and thrashed, children forgot about.

Ron shoved the closest children ahead of him, trying to make them run. If they could just make it to the open door, they might have a chance. He shouted, trying to drive them, hoping against hope that he could save them as the elves held the wolves.

Kreacher shouted in triumph as wolves began to fall back. More elves were appearing to reinforce the fighters and more wolves, as well. Ron cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted. 'Elves, get children, hurry!'

A sort of bucket brigade formed as the older children grabbed the youngest and smallest and then began to pass them hand by hand to the waiting elves, who took them two at a time to the Room. Ron raised his voice as loud as he could make it.

'Older vons, vith me, vrun!' He took off, knowing by the thundering of feet behind him that they were. He dodged, taking them down disused corridors trying to shake their pursuers. Ron could hear the wolves gaining on them and shouted, driving the children onward, hoping desperately he could get them to the Room.

'Look what we have here, boys.'

Ron skidded to a stop. Wetherell was smiling at him, a force of wolves fanned behind. Ron held up a hand to get the others to quiet. 'Let us through, Mcnair.'

'What did you say to me, you little bastard?'

'Let children through. I take them and no one get hurt.' Ron had no way to back up the threat but he felt very sure of himself. He might well die tonight. Some children might have been saved from a horrible death. That was enough.

'Or what?'

The wolves were closing in now, preparing to take the children. Ron stepped ahead, hands up. 'I give myself to you. You let children go.'

'We could just take all of you, you know. You can hardly stop us.'

Ron smiled and got even closer. 'Lift me up. I tell you secret.'

Wetherell did. He smelt strange, like something was coming out his pores. He brought his face right next to Ron's. 'Well?'

Ron bit. Hard, clamping on the man's nose and grinding with his teeth. Wetherell shouted, flailing with his arms as Ron clung by his teeth. A wolf came forward and wrapped his hands about Ron's neck, squeezing. Ron bit harder, determined to make sure at least a few of the kids got away.

'Shite! There they go!'

'Fucker! Fucker bit be!'

The children scattered, screaming. The hands tightened. Light began to flash behind Ron's eyes and he felt his jaws loosening. He kicked, brain shouting for air, and then he heard, blessedly, Myrtle's voice.

'OI! PUT HIM DOWN, YOU BULLY!'

Something shattered very close to Ron's head and then the hands released. Ron dropped, teeth clicking, and then jumped up, ready to run. He stumbled, sucking air, and then saw a trail of silver as the familiar form of Nearly Headless Nick floated into his view.

'Hurry, lad, run!'

Peeves wound up again and let fly with another vase. Ron turned down a corridor, not even sure where he was going and pelted away from Wetherell, tasting blood on his tongue. It wasn't his. The sheer miracle of it lit up his brain as he tried to find the witch statue.

The Bloody Baron appeared in front of him and pointed. Ron followed, and then stumbled into a wall. It parted for him. He had found his way back, somehow. Strong arms lifted him and Greg was almost crushing him with a hug.

'What happened?'

Ron gasped, trying to find words for what had happened, and then the darkness moved in, and he fainted. When he woke up it was chaos. Screaming children were everywhere, beaming elves were tending them, and a crowd of pregnant girls were curled up together in a corner.

Ron sat up. 'What happened?'

Greg sounded exhausted. 'A lot of them got here.'

'All of them?'

'No. But a lot. Did your best, chuck. Awful proud of you.' He ruffled Ron's hair and Ron smiled a little. His neck felt puffy and tight.

'Bit Vetherell.'

'Did you?'

'On the nose.'

'Good lad.'

Suddenly there was a flurry of motion. One of the pregnant girls was waddling toward them. 'Boy?'

'Yes, miss?'

'Lady have baby.'

'Which lady?'

'Lady with...things.' She eeled her hands.

'Aunt Hetty is having her baby?'

'Yes. Not now. After moon.'

'Tonight or tomorrow?'

'Yes.' She waddled back, casting her eyes at Greg as she went. Greg sat down on the bed and sighed, head in hands. Then he stood up.

'Ready to help?'

Ron nodded and wobbled after. He was alive, he marveled, and went to try to fix things.

Nicolae Pavel hit the deck of the Zhivka as dawn was breaking. Scabior nearly ran to greet them and gave Pavel a hug shocking in its strength. Pavel hugged back, trying not to smile at his weird little friend's childlike enthusiasm for virtually everything.

'Hello, Lem.'

'Nicolae, shure is gud t see you. Ow you bin?'

Pavel spread his hands. 'I've been worse. What about you?'

'Tired but bet'er than I bin in a long time. We ave a class a forty an they kin all write their names.'

Pavel grinned at the sheer excitement in Lem's voice. 'You must have worked hard.'

'Naw, mosly they did. We needs to go down and meet with the nobs.'

'How are they?'

Scabior actually paused, licking his lips thoughtfully. 'Not s'well. Her Majesty is...you'll see. An Enver's sick.'

'Sick?'

'Yeah.' His tone implied that there was more to it than a simple cold. Pavel nodded and followed without any more questions, Rita beside him and Arco following just behind. The Imperial Family greeted them with coffee and smiles, rolls with meat and then chairs.

Pavel had just sat down when the first wave of her power struck him. It was rolling off the tsarina in waves, hot like the touch of the sun. Pavel felt Rita stiffen and heard her make a soft mewl in her throat. He fought not to do the same, and forced himself to act normal despite his instincts screaming at him to show his throat, to back away from this tremendous power, locked in the body of a girl nearly young enough to be his daughter.

'How is it, Mr. Pavel?'

Pavel inhaled deeply. 'Troop movement, according to my people. London is fully locked down and the Death Eaters seem to be calling in a lot of the smaller players.'

'Madam Skeeter?'

Rita's voice was a dry, scared whisper. 'They came for the children this afternoon. I came to warn everyone. Gregory and Ivan went to try to get them but I don't know if it will be enough.'

'What are they doing with them?'

Rita's voice dropped even more. 'They're using them as human shields.' She dropped her head into her hands and moaned miserably. The tsar's lips thinned and Malfoy Jr started to rise, eyes bright with rage.

'That **goddamned **Wetherell.'

'Drago.'

'Sorry, Viktor. Ladies.'

'Aunt Hetty?'

'She's sent Nagini to make sure they can't seize the Basilisk.'

'Basilisk?'

Rita explained it all. The only colour in her face was her eyes, big and hurt. Pavel stroked her hand and bit down on his rage about this whole warped, shitty situation. He breathed deeply through his nose and waited to unleash hell.

It was several hours before word came of troop movements. Rita had gone back to check on the people at Hogwarts and Pavel had been otherwise occupied, which is to say that Snape had taken him aside after the first meeting. 'Come with me to the dormitory, Mr. Pavel.'

He could smell it, and hear it, long before they opened the door. In the bed someone was fighting for air, sucking in and then whooshing out as their lungs first seized and then relaxed. It was Enver Vata, blue about the lips, eyes glazed.

'My God, what-'

'His lungs are failing. Too much cold and smoke.' Snape looked pensive and then reached down to guide Enver into a better position. The wheezing leveled off a bit as his lungs got a touch more air.

'He needs to go back.'

'No!' Enver grabbed Pavel's arm fiercely, eyes bright under the glaze of pain and fear. 'No!'

'Enver, you have to. Have to.'

Enver shook his head. 'Told Snape...staying here. Going to die anyway. You know.'

Pavel did know. His training might have been purely veterinary but he could smell what the humans could not. Enver's lungs were beginning to fill with fluid. He might not even make it back.

'What can I do?'

'Costin...'

'Yes, of course. He'll come and then you'll feel better.'

Enver shook his head. 'No. It's...time, Nicolae. Don't you...feel it?'

He did. Death was with them. Had been with them a long, long time, but now he was leant over Pavel's shoulder, grinning at him with a skull's good cheer. Enver lifted his head for the phial Snape proffered and drank deep.

'Lobelia?'

'Yes.'

The lobelia helped even more. Enver went limp with relief, sucking in huge gulps of air. The blue began to recede slightly. He even managed a smile. Pavel spun as someone knocked, instinctively moving to shield the sick Pack member in the bed, lips peeling back before he smelt it was Feathering and relaxed.

Feathering came in, closing the door carefully behind himself. He had a big bundle of something in his hands. 'From the captain. His own skins to warm Vata.'

'Thank you, Headmaster.'

'Shush, boy. Lift him, Snape, Pavel.' Pavel took most of Enver and Snape did the rest as the headmaster spread out the first layer of skins and then bundled Enver in the rest. The lad felt strong and heavy, still.

'Your parents, Vata?'

Enver shook his head. 'There's nothing they can do.'

'They'll want to be with you as you...'

'Die?'

'Yes.'

Enver tried to sit and Pavel pushed him back down, growling sternly to make sure he stayed. 'No, lie down.'

'They can't come here. If they do they'll want me to come home.'

'It's still an option.'

'No. My choice is made.'

'What will we tell them when they ask?'

Enver considered, breathing almost normally now. 'That I want to live, but I want Albania to live more. My cousins need a stable country to grow up in.'

'A letter, lad?'

'Yes, please. Don't send it until...'

Pavel held up a hand. 'Costin would be glad to help, I'm sure.'

'Call him now, Mr. Pavel.' Snape looked even more angular than usual. 'So they will have some time.'

Costin got there twenty minutes later, Portkeyed directly from Tamm's Albanian estate, where the remaining Imperial Family was waiting for the war to end. He could sense something was terribly wrong the second he touched down and looked immediately to Pavel.

'Enver's sick, Costin.'

'His lungs?' For the first time since Pavel had known him, Galca seemed totally sober. He smelt of plum brandy but the usual jovial haze of alcohol had disappeared. He scent changed even as Pavel tried to find a way to soften the news.

'Yes.'

'How sick?'

'He wants to see you.'

Galca's face worked. 'That bad, Nicolae?'

'I'm sorry, Costin.'

'Where is he? And Paavo?'

'Paavo is with him. Tamm captured Travers.'

Costin snorted despite the gravity of the situation. 'No kidding.'

'He did. Paavo's been working on him ever since.'

'Good lad. Enver?'

Someone else had come with Costin. A skinny, shell-shocked looking Croat called Arbanas trailed uncertainly behind, saying nothing, shoulders down. When Galca caught sight of Enver he groaned from the soul, mouth behind his hands. The lobelia was wearing off and Enver was fighting for air again.

'It's an hour until his next dose. He's better after he's had the phial.'

Costin nodded, blank-eyed with horror and shock. 'Yes.'

'Costin?'Enver smiled a little. 'Glad... you're ...here.'

'Of course I am. No, don't talk. You're going to be fine.'

'...No.'

'Don't contradict me, boy.'

Arbanas shuffled over. 'When did you eat, Vata?'

'...Don't... know.'

'You have to eat.'

'No.'

'Have to.' Arbanas called for a bowl of broth in an invalid feeder and some weak tea and then, when he had them, sat down with the fixed intensity of a housecat contemplating a sparrow.

Costin sat down too. 'Eat. He's right.'

'Tired.'

'Eat.'

'...Later.'

'Now.' Costin sat behind Enver and lifted him like a child to sit against his chest. 'Give me the broth, Ilya.'

Enver shook his head weakly, lolling against Costin's chest. '...Choke?'

'No, you won't choke. Just a bit, now.' He lifted Enver's head as gently as a father and nudged the spout of the feeder in to slowly pour a few drops at a time down Enver's throat.

Feathering cleared his throat. 'Perhaps some privacy is called for?'

'Of course, Headmaster.'

Feathering kept pace with Pavel easily. 'Thank you for bringing him. Galca.'

'Costin loves Enver.'

'A lot of people do.'

'You couldn't order him to go back?'

'I could.'

Pavel waited. Feathering waited too, looking out on the camp. Pavel could hear a class going on in one of the buildings, and a healer checking people over in another. It sounded like life, he thought, and shivered.

'You're wondering why I don't?'

'Yes.'

'Because he's not long to live anyway. He wants to feel like his death had some meaning. Would you begrudge him that?'

'No.'

'Then he stays here.'

'It is hard to watch.'

'Yes' agreed Feathering sadly. 'It always is.'

An hour later word came that loyalist forces were massing in Norfolk. The horns sounded, and the combined fleets took to the sky, flanked by a dozen dragons, sped along by the war-music of their cries.

Penko Krum rose, crossing himself a final time, and murmured thanks to the priest who'd just taken his confession. He felt a touch hypocritical—he hadn't been to confession in years before this—but he thought that perhaps God would understand. He hoped so, anyway.

Rabastan was waiting for him. Robed but thankfully unmasked, he was wearing an embroidered surcoat with the lions of England on it. His cheeks gleamed from being freshly shaved and he smelt of cologne.

Penko made sure the priest wasn't looking before he gave his lover a kiss. 'You smell good.'

'Thank you. How did it go?'

'I can die with my soul unburdened. You?'

'We made sacrifices so the ancestors will help us.'

Penko closed his eyes a second. 'Are they ready down below?'

'I think so. Viktor's got the air corps almost ready and the dragons are apparently...well, something.'

Penko couldn't repress a slight shiver at the mention of the dragons. 'They disturb me.'

'Me, too. It scares me Hermione can do this.'

'She'll be all right.'

Rabastan looked away. 'We can hope.'

'Uncles, we're nearly ready.'

'Thank you, Anu.'

The deck of the Zhivka was packed. The leaders of the regiments, Ministers, the exile British and more, stretched out in endless ranks.

As the men approached Drago joined them, looking harried. 'Norway has asked the leading of the charge. What do you think?' He was moving as if he hadn't slept in ages and was going on pure nervous energy, which he probably was.

'I would do it. If the stories are anything to go by, it should be quite impressive.'

'How so, Uncle Rab?'

'Our people went in fear of theirs for a very good reason, Draco.' Rabastan explained briefly and Drago pinched the bridge of his nose but seemed encouraged.

'Perfect.'

'Quite.' Drago hurried to Viktor's side and nodded. Penko saw Rodolphus and Paavo Kask slip in, letting their rubber aprons drop to the ground. There was blood on them. Paavo looked a touch pale, perhaps even rattled. But he stood steadily and listened to his assignment. The nieces and nephews were generals too, and some of them might be dead when the sun rose tomorrow. Penko shivered again.

'Then all is decided. God keep you and give you strength in your battles to come.' Viktor rose to don his flying gear. Hermione stood with him. Penko could see the air shimmering subtly about her, and her hair stirred in a breeze that came from nowhere, but only very slightly.

The ministers were filing out and now it was goodbyes. Penko embraced them, his strange family, and felt the great peace of battle wash over him. He would do his duty and perhaps he would die but his duty would be done.

Hermione hugged him. She was warm as a sleepy cat against his tunic. She was so beautiful, he thought as he cupped her cheek. His niece, his queen, his dear girl. 'Hermione?'

'Uncle?'

'I love you. Be safe.'

'Love you too.'

'The dragons?'

'They're with us. Old Mother is eager for a fight.'

'Is she?'

'She's quite like human Mother, actually. Bigger.'

Penko laughed and hugged her again, wishing he had not had a part in taking her childhood even as he was glad Bulgaria was safe in her hands and under her watch. His country would live if he did not. Would that he could say the same of the children, the only children he'd ever have.

The ships were landing. Penko caught sight of the Sose, their hospital ship, landing near the Zhivka. Sose herself would be here soon, then, to say hello. And goodbye. Why was he under such a pall tonight, he wondered, and then hugged Drago extra-hard for no reason he could name.

Rita Skeeter arrived with Pavel, looking even more wan than when Penko had seen her last. 'Hetty's having the baby.'

'Tonight?'

'Right now.'

Desmond sat down hard. 'Oh. Is she all right?'

'Greg is with her, and the elves. They seem very competent. She's a letter for you, Mr. Feathering.' Rita handed it over and then let an elf bring her back. She wasn't a fighter but she could be a nurse, perhaps.

Finally the troops were arrayed and the moment had come round. Viktor mounted his broom and bid Hermione a final goodbye. Their hands lingered in one another's for a long, long moment. Then Viktor gave the signal and the air corps flew upward, hovering just inside the wards. Some of the aurors were praying in ranks as Luan Ismaili led them, others on their knees as one amongst them led them in a rosary. Everything was very clear and very, very beautiful. As they finished Hermione gave a Bulgarian auror a nod and the man stepped up and placed a war-horn against his lips, blew. The sound echoed ghostly-sweet over the mass of troops and then died away as another answered it.

'AURORS, OUR NOBLE TSARINA WOULD ADDRESS YOU ALL.' Drago dropped his wand from his throat and stepped back, holding his wife's hand. All of them were so young, and so deadly.

'WE PAUSE TODAY AT A PRECIPE. ALL THAT STANDS BETWEEN EUROPE AND TYRANNY IS US. FOR BRITAIN, FOR EUROPE AND FOR ALL HUMANITY, I ENJOIN YOU NOW TO FIGHT IN THIS PLACE. MANY OF YOU WILL NOT RETURN. IS A WORLD FREE OF TYRANNY WORTH DYING FOR?'

The sound was deafening. Penko exhaled the breath he didn't know he'd been holding and waited for the next part of the speech.

'I THINK SO TOO. IT HAS BEEN AN HONOUR, AURORS, TO FIGHT BESIDE YOU. IF I SHOULD FALL, IT WILL BE AN HONOUR TO DIE WITH YOU. THANK YOU ALL.'

The Norse were at the head of the column. Arbanas, in Enver's absence, was bearing the Imperial banner. Everywhere voices rang out in dozens of tongues, crying for mercy from God, for strength from ancestors, for courage from the gods and heroes of the past, men and women of a hundred lands who'd died so their descendants could stand here and fight to free Britain.

The column began to move as the air corps screamed overhead, flying low and fast to avoid being seen. The column was walking quickly, than jogging, then running. A light burst through the trees and lit the sky green as the Mark leered overhead. They know we're coming, thought Penko and kept running. Then stopped as the loyalist host appeared, spread out in front of them like a banner.

Penko blinked to clear his eyes. A mass of people, women as well as men, trolls, several regiments of goblins, and, at the back, half a dozen giant spiders, legs tipped in razor-sharp claws. A horn echoed from their ranks and the loyalist host screamed defiance as the whole of the Imperial army came into view.

'GOOD EVENING, EVERYONE.'

'GOOD EVENING, MY LORD.'

'WE WERE HOPING YOU WOULD COME. BUT WHERE ARE YOUR FAMOUS DRAGONS?'

'NEARBY. SHALL I SUMMON THEM FOR YOUR LORDSHIP?'

'NOT NECESSARY, WE ARE SURE. WE HAVE SOMETHING OF A PROPROSAL FOR YOU, LADY KRUM.'

'OH?'

'FACE US IN SINGLE COMBAT. IF WE SHOULD WIN, YOU WILL REMOVE YOUR ARMY FROM BRITAIN AND SWEAR NEVER TO RETURN. YOU WILL TURN OVER THE TRAITOR DEATH EATERS TO US, AND YOU WILL CEASE THIS ABSURD PRETENSE OF CALLING YOURSELF QUEEN.'

'I AM NOT CALLING MYSELF QUEEN. I **AM** QUEEN. MAY I MAKE A COUNTER PROPOSAL?'

'CERTAINLY.'

'IF I SHOULD WIN, YOU WILL YIELD YOUR ARMY TO US. THEN YOU YIELD THE CAPITAL, AND THE ENTIRE REST OF BRITAIN. THEN YOU WILL THROW DOWN YOUR WAND AND COMMAND YOUR FOLLOWERS TO DO LIKEWISE, AND WE WILL CHAIN YOU FOR TRANSPORT TO SOFIA TO FACE JUSTICE FOR YOUR MANY CRIMES. IN ADDITION, THE FOLLOWING DEATH EATERS WILL SURRENDER WITH YOU: THE CARROWS, BROTHER AND SISTER, WALDEN AND WETHERELL MCNAIR, FENRIR GREYBACK AND HIS LIEUTENANTS, AND WHOEVER HAD A HAND IN THE ATROCITY OF THE DEMENTORS. DO YOU AGREE?'

'WE DO. SHALL WE?'

'ALL RIGHT.'

Penko's heart jumped into his throat as the host parted to let the tsarina through. He heard Bellatrix groan through closed lips as her husband dropped his head, moaning softly. The others were doing likewise. Hermione's hair was stirring softly. Above them the air corps was moving closer, dangerously so, to watch what was happening. What was Viktor thinking? Did he feel the terrible helplessness of the moment as much as the people on the ground? He must, surely. More than them, even.

The Dark Lord was coming forth as well. His current body was slight, a beardless boy. Thick spectacles gleamed in the light of the torches. A troll roared and someone hushed it quickly as the two champions took their places.

Hermione bowed a second before the Dark Lord did. Would she able to hurt her old friend's body, even kill it? Penko found himself exhaling as she threw a lethal-looking curse at the Dark Lord's head without a pause.

He screamed and threw one back. She parried him, face blank, and then they were dancing, whirling and spinning so quickly that Penko could only see some of what was going on. Rab's hand squeezed his with terrified strength and Feathering, directly in front of him, was muttering some sort of reverence again and again in English so heavily accent or ancient that Penko couldn't follow.

The Dark Lord screamed again and laughed a hideous high laugh. He wound his arm back and a huge gout of flame leapt from the end of his wand to engulf Hermione. Her shields glowed green, and unhurried, without seeming to notice, she fired back at him, turning the flames with her wand and sending them careening back toward him.

The Dark Lord was not finished. Just as unhurried, he raised his wand and faced the sea, shouted something. The waves began to swell, cresting, whitecaps growing like trees as they watched, higher and higher until the top of the cliff could not be seen. Then the water, tonnes of it, was flying toward the Imperial host, deadly, fast.

'BUILD! HURRY!'

They did. The burning pitch and leather smell said that the dragons were nearby. The air corps dove to help, trying to get as many people as possible protected from the force of the water. Hermione, alone, seemed unworried. In front of them all she raised her wand and shut her eyes. And then it stopped.

The water began to rise again and bend impossibly, bend so that it hurt Penko's mind to see, hurt because his sanity might begin to slip if his mind tried to take it in. But it bent, and there is stayed as Hermione turned back, caging them in water.

She dropped like a rag doll. 'No' she moaned, very loud in the shocked horror-silence 'oh no no my mind my mind no please I am very small I can't I can't I can't-' On the ground she started to twitch, sighing and jerking as her mother hurtled toward her, shrieking like Hell's own clarion, and Snape the beat after, to haul her to her feet.

'Hermione? Hermione, answer me!'

Hermione had stopped moving. Above them, the water held, but dear God, at what possible cost to her mind?


	95. Chapter 95

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**Spring has sprung! I haven't been feeling well lately but hopefully things'll improve now that the nice weather has arrived.**

They could feel the breeze on their skin, and taste salt in their mouth. Water? They flapped their wings and lashed their great milky tail, careful not to let the barb brush this strange cage of water, the thing the human-self had made for them.

Their wings rocked in the air, just staying still, and they felt like the tickle of a tiny wing against their own vast ones, the human-self like a mote of dust in the air. It was small and it was scared, because the other was so big. So big, and so much, and humans are so fragile and tiny. Salt, salt like the sea but not. What, then? Salt.

The human-self's mind was coming up again, fighting through the layers of the shared mind until the human-brain could take over again. The dragon-mind probed gently, curious. Could the dragon not smash this flight of enemies and then let the human-mind come back? To protect that tiny, fragile little mote?

No! The human-mind thrashed, and then something clicked and the human-mind began to move things, pushing them into groups, making space for itself. The dragon let it, easing back, wings going more quickly now. The mote was growing, spreading, and before it gently disengaged itself it asked and the dragon-mind answered. The flight of enemies would be smashed but it would take them both, and then the dragon would fly. The dragon-mind let the mote float away, for now, and then, before the human-mind could finishing building the walls it needed, found the words. Tears. The salt was tears.

Hermione gasped and sat up, fully herself again, and realised she was being held and her face was wet. She turned her head and Mother gasped, hugging her furiously, chest heaving. Crying, Mother was crying.

'Mother?'

'Girl!'

'Professor?'

'We will talk later but now you must go. The water will not hold forever.'

'Water?'

He shook her. 'Our lives depend on it.'

She let her shields drop a tiny fraction and saw it all. She forced herself to her feet, legs shaking, 'Get me Draco, hurry!'

Draco was already pelting toward them. 'Hermione!' He flew into her arms and actually lifted her up in his haste to reassure himself that she was all right. Hermione hugged him fiercely and then wriggled down.

'We need to move. I can't hold this forever.'

'What do we do?'

'The Norwegians. Tell them to get ready. I'm going to send the water back and then the Norwegians will move to charge their lines. Are you ready?'

'Always. NORWEGIANS, PREPARE YOURSELVES!'

The Norse roared approvingly, and the rest of the army, which had been too quiet, broke into spontaneous cheers. Elves appeared with banded drinking horns, and the leader of the first regiment came forward to drop to one knee.

'Snorri Aase, Majesty. When my men have taken the potion, it's imperative that we be able to advance. We will not know friend from foe.'

'Of course, captain.'

'Have we your leave?'

Hermione nodded, head still murky. The Norwegians moved to the border of the water and raised their horns. Captain Aase pulled his bearskin tighter about his person and raised his horn.

'NORSEMEN, VIKINGR, MY BROTHERS! OUR ANCESTORS AWAIT US! DO YOU FEAR TO JOIN THEM?'

'NO!'

'CATTLE DIE, AND KINDRED DIE, EVERY MAN IS MORTAL. ONE THING ALONE I KNOW DOES NOT DIE!'

'THE GLORIOUS DEEDS OF THE DEAD!' And then they downed their horns. Their bodies began to ripple and change, pelts fusing with human skins as Hermione tore her eyes away. The dome was above them and soon it would need to be ahead of them. She could feel her power dancing in her fingers and toes, aching in her bones.

Hermione reached with her mind and felt the connexion. She opened her eyes and channeled the magic into her swing as the dragons burst from the sea-dome and the thing exploded outward and then hurtled back the way it came. The Norse were finding their feet now as bears. Captain Aase stood on his hind legs to roar at the loyalists before falling to all fours and beginning to run.

'GO!'

And just like that, it was battle. Hermione ran, sensing her loved ones about her and the dragons above, swooping down to keep the enemy penned, unable to join to strike back as a whole. The air corps screamed by overhead, moving like a well-oiled machine. The artillery was beginning from the backs of their lines, arcing overhead to smash holes in the enemy shields.

Mother stopped and screamed wordlessly, and then her wand began to move. 'COME ON, YOU WHORES!'

Draco, too, was shouting. 'WETHERELL, YOU FUCKER! I'M COMING FOR YOU!'

Wolves were streaming past and the two packs met with an audible crash. Hermione saw the dogs too, the fifty-two Karackachans of House Krum. She saw a dog leap gracefully and take an auror by the throat, shaking her like a toy even as a dozen bears rushed a troll and drove their fangs and claws into its ankle, ignoring the swipes of the club it sent down, bellowing in stupid pain.

Hermione caught sight of the Dark Lord and started to move. It was easy, almost uncomfortably easy. She found that she could knock the enemy aside by the dozen if she used her wand the right way and kept moving, dodging spells, killing whatever crossed her path. Once a spell nearly hit her but a bear knocked her down, crushing her under his huge bulk for a second and then leaping up to maul some luckless goblin with claws as long as Hermione's fingers.

The spiders were amongst them, trying to gore with the spikes someone had strapped to their legs. Hermione saw a spike coming for her head and danced to the side, and blasted the thing without breaking stride. She kept moving forward, wanting to end it, wanting the Dark Lord to fall under her wand. Aunt Eugenia was fighting Alecto and somewhere Mother was laughing as she killed.

Hermione killed too, until something penetrated the battle-fog on her brain. A howl, rising higher and higher until it seemed to break the tree tops. Another answered it, and then a third. Wolves, she thought, and then, **wolves**.

Arco was sprinting toward her. 'Majesty, we need to go!'

'What's happening?'

'They're changing, we need to go! Fucking Greyback!' The moon, still heavily veiled by clouds, shone a few feeble beams through.

'Sound the evacuation, wounded first. We'll hold them here.'

He raced off, shouting orders as aurors ringed up to protect the Imperial Family, who in turn was fighting over the barrier, holding the wolves off.

Hermione didn't even have to reach out this time. She just dropped her shields a bit and waited, and when she felt the nudge, nudged back. Three of the dragons arrowed down and blew, fire spewing from their mouths. The howls turned to squeals of pain as more and more aurors on both sides vanished, desperate to escape from the wolves. The Norwegians were fighting them, claw to claw, snapping, as the wolves packed together to attack. There was no safe way to remove them; the ones that lived would know to follow the fleet.

Hermione felt the question in her brain and opened a bit more, assenting. Old Mother did not so much fly as glide. Her talons, wrapped about Hermione's waist, felt reassuringly snug and safe. The dragon was so warm, and the whoosh of her wings so soothing, that by the time they'd landed, Hermione had put her head down and fallen peaceably asleep.

Severus Snape met the dragon as closely as he dared, bowing low, so low he could have touched the top of his boots. 'Old Mother.'

The dragon snorted, a lick of green flame curling from her nostrils as she carefully set the girl down and then knelt, wing unfurling. They were beautiful, veined like marble, delicate as eyelashes at the end. The tiny dew-claws looked like pearls glistening in the torchlight. The dragon snorted again as she settled. Her eyes, Snape noticed, were green. Lily's had been almost that green, and the boy's.

'We must needs leave soon, Old Mother. We need to get to the capital as quickly as possible.'

The dragon's tremendous head lowered and a small lick of flame drifted from one nostril. She had spoken, clearly.

'Many will die if we do not move.'

The dragon's wings fanned gently. Snape saw Hermione stirring a bit, and then rise slowly. The dragon growled and the girl pressed against her side. 'Later we will' she said, and then stepped blinking into the chaos of the camp, shaking her head to clear it.

'Majesty, we need to go right now.'

'All right.' She stumbled a bit, legs shaky as a newborn colt's, and Snape, deciding, bent and simply lifted her up. She froze for a second and then looped her arms about his neck. Her heart was very near his.

As soon as the boy saw them he ran over, feet pounding, and flung his arms about them both. 'Oh, thank God, thank God.'

'Viktor?'

Snape set the girl down, feeling a bit foolish at having reacted as he did. She leant against him a second and then straightened. 'We'll talk on the ship, Viktor, all right?'

Below decks was a madhouse. Aurors were strapping in for transport, shouting and laughing, filled with the improbable joy of being alive after a battle. When they saw the girl a great cheer rang out. 'LONG LIVE THE TSARINA!'

She smiled, still stumbling slightly. 'THANK YOU. I AM SO PROUD OF YOU ALL.'

The scene in the family quarters was little calmer. Bellatrix hurtled toward her daughter, sobbing dryly, and nearly knocked her down in her eagerness to hold her.

'YOU ALMOST DIED, YOU TERRIBLE CHILD!'

'Mother, please don't shout.'

'I SHALL IF I LIKE! THIS IS WORST THAN THE SNAKE! BY TENS!' Bellatrix was still clutching her girl with the savage love that was her coin, and as Snape watched a few tears trickled down her cheeks, tinted with kohl from her eyes.

'I need to sit down, I think.'

Kask stumped over dragging a chair and Hermione sank into it, hands in her head. No one was saying anything. Finally the healer stumped over much as Kask had and tipped her head up, looking into her eyes.

'Your Majesty's pupils are of normal size. It is not a fit of apoplexy, at least.'

'No, just a headache. I'd like a phial, please. Something light.'

An elf got her one and she sat down to explain what she had seen, and what it might mean for the rest of them.

After, Snape found the lad standing at the rail, gripping the side white-knuckled. 'Majesty?'

'Professor, I am most glad you are vith us.' The tsar had cancelled the wards as soon as he'd sighted Snape, to make it harder to overhear them.

'Thank you. Is there something I might help you with?'

'My vife is not vell, Enver is dying and now ve must go to London to kill people. Many vill be muggles, or children, or old people.'

'Yes.'

'Vhat this means for Herm-on-nee-knee? This dragon thing?'

'I wish I could tell you, Sire.'

'Vhat do you think, then?'

'I think—may I be very open with you?'

'Please do.'

'No one knows what will happen to your wife because this has never happened, full stop. We are in uncharted territory right now. My fear is that we are unable to predict what will likely happen as a result.'

'Vill she...vill she die?'

'I hope not.'

The lad nodded, lips tight. 'She says she feel vell. But she is so hot, Professor. So hot to touch.'

'I know.'

'Vhen she fall—fell-I see it. Saw it. But couldn't help. I vas the tsar, you see.'

'You did right' said Snape, feeling a kind of detached horror as he contemplated it, seeing the thing from the lad's vantage.

'I think maybe yes, as tsar. No, as husband.'

'She would want you to live. And lead.'

'I vant for her too. But even tsar cannot command a dragon.'

'No.'

'How do I help her?'

Snape touched the lad's shoulder. 'Love her, and trust that things will fall out as they ought to.'

The lad lifted his chin.'There is no choice now.'

'None.'

'Check on Enver vith me?'

'Of course.' The tsar calmly restored the wards and they went off together.

Vata was slightly better. Swathed in furs, he was lying on his back His eyes were bright, and when he saw the lad he grinned, trying to sit up more. His arms wouldn't hold him and he nearly went over, until Galca steadied him, growling softly. Snape could hear Vata's lungs struggling, beginning to rasp a bit as the lobelia started wearing off.

'Krum, Snape. Hello.'

'Hello, Enver.'

'Mr. Vata.'

'How are you, Enver?'

'Fine. Sorry I missed...' Vata stopped to inhale more deeply. 'The battle.'

'I was sorry too. It wasn't the same without you.'

'Just as...well. Is Hermione all right?'

'Hermione is...she's walking and talking. We aren't quite sure what's happened but she's fine right now.'

Vata grimaced. 'She's strong. She'll be fine.'

'I...God willing.'

'God... willing' agreed Vata, and Galca touched his amulet and moved his lips, clearly echoing the sentiment. Snape himself, a bit abashed, mentally made a reverence to his mother's shade for help. Eileen, he thought, wouldn't let her granddaughter down.

An elf appeared with a tray. 'Mistress Sose sent a meal, masters.'

The lad took the bowl. 'Millet porridge and fruit, it looks like. Enver, lay back.'

'I can...do it.'

'I know.'

'Spoon?'

The lad handed the spoon over and held the bowl out. Vata managed to hold onto the handle of the spoon and get it most of the way to his mouth before his hand started to tremble with weakness. The elf darted forward and grabbed it before it tipped. The lad raised a brow. Vata nodded reluctantly.

'You were...right.'

'Shush.'

Snape left the tsar feeding his school friend porridge. Irrationally, a surge of self-anger spiked as he left the room, so strongly that Snape balled his fist and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. He couldn't fix this or help them, but he felt like he should be able. Simmering, he went to find Black, hoping the idiot dog might have some sort of suggestion, or insight, or plan.

At Hogwarts, Hetty panted, leant against Gregory Goyle's chest and then let her knees go loose as the contraction passed. Greg was startling casual about the whole thing, all told. When she stood up, he put a huge hand on her arm and said 'Better?'

'Yes' lied Hetty, smiling with practiced ease 'much. Shall we walk a bit more?'

On her other side, Rita, greenish, took her other elbow and gave the appearance of girding herself mentally. 'You're quite sure you should not be in bed, Hetty dear?'

'Quite. Are you all right, Hinka?'

Another pregnant lady, keeping pace, nodded stolidly. Hinka was not in labour, but the wolf-girls were keeping her company as she walked. Hinka's hands stole to her own belly for a second. She frowned pensively, letting her tongue dart to the bow of her lips. 'Baby do legs.'

'Kick?'

'Yes.'

'Muhra? Ilena?'

More nods. Most of the wolf-girls said little, darting nervous eyes at Greg, but they had formed about her as soon as her labour started and gave no signs of leaving. So Hetty, welcomed into their sorority, tried to be brave so as to not add to their not-inconsiderable woe with her own. What else was there to do?

Another contraction hit and Hetty stopped, bending over to clutch her stomach. A gush of water ran down her legs. 'My waters?'

One of the elf midwives flapped her hands. 'Yes! Mistress, time to move to the bed for a while.' Greg said something softly to Ivan, who obediently trotted off. Better he not see this part.

Hetty made herself turn calmly, walking to the birthing bed that had been made for her. She let them settle her against the headboard, leaning into the support, and shut her eyes for a second.

Hetty had no parents. No siblings, no grandparents, no cousins. No one to whom she could turn in this extremity, no names to call on for support. Her mother had rejected her totally for reasons she could not and would never know. All this she had accepted long since in her powerful negative capability. But now, preparing to step into a new world, she wished she had some name to wield like a talisman, something to hold when the pain overwhelmed her.

The elf did something below and Hetty gasped, arching. 'Oh, God!'

The wolf-girls edged closer. One by one, they joined hands, and Hetty pressed her own into theirs as Rita carefully took up position to help the elves, looking more nauseous by the second. Greg calmly took up position on the other side, seemingly unaffected by the drama of what was happening.

Greg blinked. 'Nagini' he said, and then fell silent again. Nagini was indeed slithering toward them, shaking her head back and forth, human-like. _/nagini did not fight all humans basilisk is gone/_

Hetty nodded and gasped as the next contraction wracked her. Nagini hissed and darted toward her to nose her belly _/this sun/_

_/yes/_

More snakes clamoured into bed._ /the eggs come/_

_/just one/_

_/one egg/_

_/one.../_ she tried to find a word that meant baby or infant and couldn't._ /little helpless man-young/_

_/hmmph/_ said the snake, indicating serpentine skepticism. Nagini grumbled and then coiled about Hetty protectively, head on her heaving belly.

_/yseult-young is ready soon to strike_/ The nuances of the words Nagini used would be hard to render into English but Hetty understood instinctively that she meant that poor Yseult, with Caroline and a team of the others, were lying in wait, stalking Wetherell with the cool precision of a predator.

_/this sun/_

_/no but sun sun or sun sun sun_/ Tomorrow or the next day, then. Hetty closed her eyes and prayed to her unseen, unnamed ancestors that the girl would succeed and free herself from her terrible husband.

The baby took it's time, as first babies are apt to do. When the moment came to push Hetty stood up, supported by wolf-girls and the swaying, green-faced Rita, and lifted her gown to bear down on her heels. She felt it coming, moving like a train, a feeling like her innards were preparing to drop out, and then she pushed, exhaling her pain as the girls groaned in sympathy.

'AHHH! GOD!'

Two more pushes and the head was crowning. The midwife elf calmly reached down and turned the shoulders as the next push expelled them, and then the rest of the baby came in a gush of fluid, red and sticky and salty as tears. Hetty slumped exhausted, as the elf cleaned the nose and mouth and tied the cord off. The baby began a loud and lusty cry. In the other part of the Room, the children and elves cheered.

'A girl!'

The wolf-girls cheered as well. One of them handed over her own ragged shawl for cover as the rest of them got Hetty into the bed, legs shaking, and took her baby, opened her nightgown and gave her daughter her breast.

Nagini sprung. Wrapping mother and child she sniffed both all over, eyes bright._ /human young/_

_/yes eda-young/_

_/so tiny so warm so helpless so soft so soft/_

_/the other human-young/_

_/eda-young is the whole brood/_

The snakes sounded less than convinced, especially about the placenta, but finally allowed as no more were coming. Eda latched on and started to suckle, tiny fist waving. She was the most perfect, wonderful human ever on earth, thought Hetty, and then the tears started. Her own mother had not thought that of her. But that was done now, she told herself, holding the ragged offering from a pregnant child to her own daughter, who would lack nothing. She wept but motioned them all closer, holding out her arms so everyone could share her joy and wonder.

'H-hold my baby when she's done?'

The closest wolf-girl touched Eda's downy cheek. 'Baby?'

'Eda.'

'Eda.' She sat down, watching every second, and then, when Eda was fed, took her in her arms for a minute, crooning in a language Hetty didn't know. Eda opened her mouth and yawned, gums shockingly pink and tender. Snakes were coming to explore, curious about this exotic, tiny creature.

Hetty suddenly realised she was exhausted. She closed her eyes and slumped back, letting sleep take her even as the elves stopped the bleeding and snakes, more snakes than she'd ever seen, came from the walls to offer their snaky congratulations. She remembered just before she went to sleep wholly.

'Tell Des. About Eda. The Basilisk.'

Desmond Feathering/Alastor Moody himself was with his students—former students—when the news came. 'Master Feathering, the baby is here!'

'Is Hetty all right?'

The elf danced a bit in the air. 'Yes, very well! A baby girl. Mistress named her Eda.'

The lads cheered and Tamm, beaming, ran to tell Krum and the girl, pausing after a few steps. 'Should I, Uncle?'

'Please do.'

On the bed Vata was fighting for air again in earnest. His rally had not lasted very long, to all their grief.

Snape sat on the bunk, taking his pulse with one spidery hand, murmuring to himself as he did. Feathering/Moody leant over and brushed Vata's brow. Vata's eyes opened but didn't focus. He smiled slightly.

'It's almost time for...Potions, Oni.'

'Yes' said the headmaster softly. 'It is that, lad.'

Beside Feathering/Moody Paavo Kask made a strangled noise and clutched the bedframe so hard his knuckles went white. Krum murmured and put an arm about him and Kask began a rasping, low-pitched sob, shaking his head.

'Paavo?'

'Y-yes, Enver?'

'We're not at...school.'

'No. Not for a year.'

'Oh. Where are we? I know we're on... the ship.'

'We're in Krum and Hermione's room.'

'They moved me here?'

'Yes.'

Snape stood up, lips tight. 'The lobelia will help a bit.'

Moody-Feathering cast a bubble. 'For how long?'

'A few days, perhaps.'

'And then?'

Snape looked him directly in the eye. 'He will die.'

'There's nothing to be done?'

'No.'

Vata wheezed harder. 'You... needn't. I... know.'

'Hush, Mr. Vata.'

'Paavo?'

'Enver?'

'Don't... leave me. I'm afr...aid.'

'No' said Kask, eyes wet. 'Not ever.'

'I'll go... before that. Every... night they...get ...closer.'

Kask roughly yanked his whole boot off, and then the cut-down one to crawl in next to Vata. Vata rolled awkwardly so they were face to face. 'Tell me about... the first day... of school... Paavo.'

'You were eleven and so was I. I had never been away from Vaike and...'

Galca was outside the door. He smelt sober and like he'd been vomiting. He was shaking all over, face waxen. 'Hello, gentlemen.'

'Mr. Galca. Something for the pain?'

'No. I want to be clear-headed.'

'You are shaking quite powerfully.'

Galca nodded. 'Enver is dying.'

'He is.'

'It's the least I can do.'

Feathering/Moody touched his arm. 'He wouldn't begrudge you.'

'I know. I want to do this.'

Feathering/Moody swallowed. 'For whatever it is worth to you, sir, I am so sorry.'

'Thank you. He's a good boy.' His voice was coming from the far-distance of his grief. 'I am so thankful to have had him at all.'

Feathering-Moody blinked. He had comforted a lot of parents in his day but this was special. 'He asked for you first when he took to bed.'

'He did?'

'Yes.'

Galca leant against the wall again, legs trembling. 'Your daughter was born today.'

'Yes. Eda.'

'Thank God. Then you know...'

'I do.'

Galca dropped his head and wept. 'How long does he have?'

Snape answered. 'A few days, Mr. Galca. His lungs are simply too damaged to function anymore.'

'There is nothing?'

'I'm sorry.'

Galca straightened up. 'I should see to him, then.'

They watched him go. 'There are those' said Snape finally 'who believe that werewolves do not feel.'

'They're stupid.'

'Quite.'

The deck was cold but a little more moon was peeking through the clouds. 'So you are to be congratulated.'

'Thank you.'

'It was gracious of your wife to remember Madam Cunegarde's mother that way.'

'Madam Cunegarde was always very good to my family.'

Snape looked up at the moon for a moment. 'Daughters' he said finally 'are wonderful. I am told.'

'I have heard that as well.'

'Life takes so many strange turns.'

'Yes' agreed the two men in one. 'But good ones, sometimes.'

'Sometimes being the operative word.'

Cheers were starting from the dormitory and then they spread, and singing started up. 'They've heard about the baby.'

'Or someone's smuggled some whiskey in somewhere.'

'Probably both.'

'Most likely.'

Feathering-Moody finally asked. 'Hermione?'

'We don't know.'

'But she is not...?'

'Mad. You have seen her talk. Does she seem mad to you?'

'No. But you know her far better than I.'

'If anyone can do it, it is the girl.'

The headmaster felt terrible pity for Snape in that moment. Things were so fragile, he thought, the chains of our lives are made of glass links. 'Hermione is a good girl.'

'Yes.'

'You have seen no signs?'

'None.'

'All right.'

Draco came grinning to congratulate him. 'Uncle, the men are dancing to celebrate.'

'Who brought the liquor?'

Draco snorted. 'The Arithmancy professor brought a supply of cider, and we had barrels of everything else.'

'No one is getting drunk?'

'One glass apiece, I swear.'

The music from below was getting louder and more raucous. Draco frowned. 'Should I tell them to quiet down? It might bother Enver.'

Snape shook his head. 'Mr. Vata is beyond being bothered by very much right now, Draco. Ask him to be sure, but the men need to celebrate something to prepare them for the horrors to come.'

Sirius was in Salazar-form. He bounded up and transformed. 'The baby?'

'A healthy girl.'

'Oh, good.' He grinned and embraced the headmaster and then stepped back. 'Word from London. They've got the damned thing in the Ministry.'

'The Basilisk?'

'Yes.'

'Fuck' said Draco, and then blushed bright red. 'Sorry.'

He went to see to Vata and the other three men looked at the shy moon and waited to see what came next.


	96. Chapter 96

**A/N: Love to Signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**I'm sorry this took so long, gang. My health is still not very good, but things are fixing to look up (she said optimistically) :D**

The hold of the ship thrummed with malevolence. Though, Sirius Black thought, malevolence might be too strong a word. But it was definitely a sense of caged energy, and definitely it made him nervous as a cat as he walked to the place where Gellert Grindelwald was being held.

'Ah, Black. No Snape this time?'

'Just me.'

'And no cousins either?'

'Sorry.'

'Where is the girl?'

Sirius waited to be asked to sit before he answered. 'Hermione is having some issues I'd like to talk to you about, if that's all right.'

'Please.'

Sirius told him everything. He found it easier to catalogue his own feelings when he could put them in some order for someone else, so he found himself explaining more and more, giving opinions as well as facts. Grindelwald said nothing until Sirius had finished and then put his horny-nailed old man hands on the table and nodded slowly.

'Just as I thought.'

'You knew this would happen?'

'This specific thing? Of course not, no. But this is the best of all worlds, young man, I assure you of that.'

'How so?'

Grindelwald's eyes were burning with excitement. 'If she hadn't found a way to channel the energy she would have inevitably have turned to truly Dark magic.'

'This isn't?' Sirius sensed it was not but he wanted that confirmation to be completely sure.

'Not inherently. Believe you me, young fellow, had the girl genuinely fallen to Darkness you would know by now. We all would.'

'How?'

'We'd be dead.'

'Ah. Good enough? What could happen now? With Hermione?'

Grindelwald's oddly pale tongue flicked out to brush the bow of his upper lip. 'I believe that two things might happen. One is that her mind will eventually break under the strain. That is less likely. The more likely thing is that her mind will rise to the challenge of what is happening. The problem with that, young man, is that what her mind will be after that is unknowable.'

'What it will be?'

'Yes.'

'You mean...you mean she might not even...she might not be...?' Sirius found his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth as his saliva dried up.

'Human anymore. I suppose that it would depend on how one defines human, would it not?'

'Don't. Don't spar with me.'

'Why not? It amuses me.'

'Hermione could die.'

'All men must die.'

'But not my cousin, not now.'

'You presume to stop it, young man? You presume to demand anything of the universe?'

'Yes.' Sirius slammed his hands down, but Grindelwald didn't flinch. His eyes were bright and malicious and knowing. He had seen much evil and drank of it well.

'Good. Then I will tell you what I know.'

Grindelwald suddenly relaxed all over, slumping a bit. For a second Sirius was afraid he had had a fit of apoplexy but then the man sat up. 'Imagine a house with many rooms, a place with some light and much darkness. Some of the rooms are well-lit, but small. More of them are large but very dark.'

'Right.'

'These rooms are not empty, oh no. Some of them might be, but many of them—most of them—are peopled. Most of the people, too, are invisible. Ghosts, imprints of events.'

Sirius nodded, wondering where this was going. Possibly nowhere.

'Now imagine a fire burning behind a grate. A large fire in a lighted room, how cheerfully it burns.'

'I see.'

'Those dark rooms, those rooms peopled with things and places which are unseen. What happens when the fire behind the grate grows too big to be contained? When those dark places are illuminated and the unseen is suddenly thrust into the light?'

Sirius was relieved to notice this was going someplace. 'You think that her power might force her unconscious to the fore.'

'It already has. May I finish?' Grindelwald sounded slightly peevish, irked to be put off his stride.

'Please.'

'Now the fire has spread. Things are burning. But nothing is out of control, not yet. Not totally. Further, nothing bad has happened.'

'Yet.'

'Yet. Now, this fire is burning. A huge blast of very concentrated air was introduced but again, nothing awful has happened. But someday the fire must needs start to eat the foundations. Unless...?'

'Unless?'

Grindelwald smiled toothlessly. 'One could always simply reinforce the foundations of the house, naturally. But that is a bandage solution at best, young man. A more daring choice would be to utilise that flame to do a controlled burn.'

'On what?'

Grindelwald grinned harder. 'The mind itself, of course. Use it as a crucible.'

'How?'

'Feed the fire, of course. Encourage it, nurture it.'

'If she gets much more powerful there will be problems.'

'There are problems now, Herr Black, else you'd not be here.'

Sirius nodded. 'So have you got any ideas?'

'I have told you my idea.'

'So your idea is to do something that will increase her power exponentially whilst also potentially rendering her inhuman, at best?'

'Simply put.'

Sirius wished he could beat his head on the table. 'Thank you, sir.'

'Do you remember the story of the Deathly Hallows, Herr Black?'

'I do.'

'I do too.'

Sirius didn't quite see the connexion. Not yet. Grindelwald enlightened him.

Viktor was in another part of the ship, watching his wife sleep. Under four furs she still shivered a little, snuggling into their borrowed bed. He bent to brush her cheek lightly with his fingertips and her eyes snapped open, glassy as if with fever.

'Cold.'

'I know. Shall I...shall I warm you?'

She nodded and smiled tiredly. 'I won't hurt you, you know.'

'I do know.'

'Why are you afraid?' She said it so calmly and naturally that he felt his heart slow a beat. He felt exposed to her gaze somehow. This is Hermione, he told himself. This is Hermione. He scooted in beside her and took her very cautiously in his arms.

'Because I don't want to hurt you.'

'You won't.'

He touched her face again. Under his hands she felt so hot. Like the sun, he thought, and then pulled his hand back. 'I can't. Physically. Could I?'

Hermione gnawed her lip. It was a flash of normality, a second of sanity in an increasingly mad world. 'I don't think so.'

Viktor wriggled closer. 'Our wedding night, remember? I was terrified.'

'I wasn't. I knew you wouldn't hurt me.'

'I am glad one of us did.'

'Viktor?'

'Hmm?'

'Are you afraid of me?'

He paused. 'I think...not of you. Never of you. I am afraid for you.'

'She won't ever hurt me. We're...together.'

'Together?'

She nodded, lifting her head up. 'Yes. It's hard to explain.'

'A lot of things are.'

Hermione burrowed against him, sighing. 'I shouldn't be cold but I am.'

'Your skin doesn't feel cold.'

'Does it burn you?'

'A little.' He raised a palm so she could see it, flushed red where it had pressed the bare skin of her back. She brought it to her mouth to kiss the joints of his fingers with lips that felt like coals, but only for a second.

He rested his face near the curve of her collarbone and breathed in. She smelt like Hermione, like roses and skin and soap, but underneath was the slight smell of burning, a vaguely bitumenous trace of dragon coming from her pores.

She rolled to sit up. 'We should be in London soon.'

'The Basilisk is waiting for us.'

'We'll need to find a way to fight it, then.' Her brow furrowed and she began to nibble her lip again, clearly working through things in her mind.

'Mistress? Master?'

'Hello, Kreacher.'

Kreacher swooped down to touch Hermione's forehead. 'Mistress is so warm.'

'I'm all right, Kreacher.'

Kreacher made a noise that somehow dismissed that and indicated his worry at once. Hermione let the blanket fall distantly, obviously not bothered by her nudity. Not that Viktor was, but with the other things it bothered him a little.

'Master Sirius has spoken with Master Grindelwald.'

'Has he?'

Kreacher made the noise again. 'Master Grindelwald has all sorts of ideas about things.'

'Could Sirius come brief us when he gets a moment?'

'Kreacher will get Master Sirius right now.' He vanished. Viktor bent down and got Hermione's clothes from the floor. 'Here, Hermione.'

She nodded distantly. 'All right.'

'No, love, we need to do this right now.'

She nodded again and began to struggle into her shift, frowning. 'It feels funny on my skin.'

'Clothing?'

'Mmm hmm.' Viktor gently slapped her hands away to help her, and then wrapped a shawl about her shoulders so she wouldn't take a chill. She snuggled into the touch. 'She had a mate too, you know.'

'Old Mother?'

'He was very like you. In a good way.'

Viktor raised a brow. 'You've...discussed this?'

'Of course. He had beautiful wings, and a jet so strong he could melt stone.' She sounded admiring and also wistful. Viktor gently brushed her hair. It felt like cat's fur, warm underneath.

'You think of me like that?'

'Of course. You're handsome and strong like he was.'

He shook his head gently. 'He was as lucky to have Old Mother as I am to have you.'

Hermione leant into him. 'I'm sorry.'

'Sorry for what?'

'I'm not like I was.'

'No one is, day to day or year to year. I love you.'

'I love you too. Don't leave me.'

'Never.'

'Promise?'

'On my mother.'

Sirius nearly burst in, grinning with excitement like a happy child. 'I might have an answer!'

Snape was on his heels. 'What this arse means, Majesties, is that Herr Doktor Grindelwald has proposed a possible solution to our ills.'

'How so, sir?'

Sirius kissed Hermione's cheeks and patted Viktor's arm. 'Hermione, did you ever hear the story of the Deathly Hallows?'

'No' she said, letting the shawl drop open. 'I never have.'

Sirius handed over a book of runes. 'My runes-reading isn't very good.'

'Like nearly everything else associated with you, dog.'

'Like your hygiene, Snape.'

'How elevated.'

'Perhaps you'd rather do this?'

'I wouldn't muck it up, at least.'

'Based on what evidence, precisely?'

'My word, obviously.'

'Oh, well. I can claim to be king of the unicorns but that doesn't mean much, now does it?'

'Sirius' said Hermione gently 'Professor, let's talk about the Deathly Hallows now.'

Snape sat down, glowering fiercely, and stroked her hair gently for a moment. 'Quite right. Would you care to read?'

It was a short story, and one that Viktor found vaguely familiar. He had never heard it, but hoodwinking death was not unknown to many cultures. He listened as Hermione read and then, when it was done, handed the book to Snape.

'I'm not seeing the connexion.'

'Grindelwald seems to think that the key to destroying the Horcruxes might well lie in harnessing the power of the Deathly Hallows.'

'How?'

Snape bent a bit closer. 'The Dark Lord is housed in Mr. Potter. It is possible that attempts to use a Killing curse might well fail, as they did the first time. Unless we had the Elder Wand.'

Hermione held up a hand. 'This is a myth, isn't it?'

'Grindelwald swears it is not.'

'How would he know?'

Sirius shifted. 'Well, apparently he owned it for a while.'

'The Elder Wand?'

'Yes.'

'Where is it?'

'Dumbledore had it, last anyone knew.'

Hermione's brow creased. 'We would need to send someone to find it then?'

'Not exactly. Mr. Weasley might be able to, or Mr. Goyle.'

'But the Dark Lord lives in Dumbledore's chambers.'

'That's the gnome in the garden, admittedly.'

'What about that phial of Grindelwald's?' Sirius leant forward, hands on knees. 'He seems to think that's the key to this thing.'

'Phial?'

Sirius explained briefly about what had happened in the cave. Viktor felt his stomach start to heave and then shoved it down mercilessly. Hermione was taking it all in with bright, feverish eyes.

'What about the cloak?'

'Mr. Potter's cloak?'

'Yes. We could send it to Ron or Greg to get into Dumbledore's rooms with.'

Sirius smote himself on the brow. 'Of course!'

'That doesn't solve the mystery of the phial, though.'

Sirius frowned, brow creasing like Mother's. 'Grindelwald seems convinced it's the most important thing.'

'What do you think, Professor?'

Snape ground his teeth for a second. 'That I must go and try to pry this out of that old man.'

'I could go.'

'NO!' Said all three men at once. Hermione sat back, blinking. Viktor took one hand as Snape took the other, face registering a flicker of discomfort.

'You need to rest right now, girl.'

'All right' she agreed, and closed her eyes. 'In my dreams I can fly.'

The ship rocked a little bit. Viktor suddenly suspected there was a dragon very near it and shuddered. Hermione's eyes stayed closed but her brows lifted.

'Viktor?'

'Nothing, love.'

He laid down after a beat, feeling that something—thin as silk but hard as diamonds—was beginning to grow. Not between them, not exactly. But too close for him to like it much. Or at all.

Draco Malfoy was staring blankly at the map, head pounding, when his wife said 'Come to bed.'

'Can't. I need to figure out our approach on London.'

'Let Luan do it.'

'Can't.'

'Drago.'

He turned, trying to rub knots from his neck with fingers that didn't quite want to work. They felt stiff and fumbly, like trying to force a bundle of twigs to bend as a unit. Vaike made a disgusted noise and came to stand behind him, looking down.

'What's the plan?'

Draco shook his head. 'Haven't got one. We know they're waiting for us and we know they'll never surrender, but how many there are, and where they're situated, we aren't sure.'

'So what will we do?'

'Approach from the north along these roads' Draco stabbed a finger at the route in question. 'The aircorps will move in first to lay down covering fire and then the regiments will advance behind them.'

Vaike pressed against him from behind. 'So the plan is decided.'

'That part of it.'

'Come to bed, Drago.'

'Can't. Nightmares.'

'You won't have any nightmares.'

'How do you know, then?'

Vaike shrugged. 'I just do.'

Draco stood up, joints crackling like an old person's. 'Just for an hour, love.' His head was swimming

In the bed Draco burrowed into the skins and shut his eyes. 'Hold me?'

Vaike nestled against him, twined in his limbs. 'I love you so much.'

'I know. I mean, I love you too.'

'Are you all right?'

'No' said Draco frankly, and tugged the skins higher. Pippy came with an infusion of hot sage water and honey to settle Draco's stomach, which had felt acidic lately. He suspected vaguely it was an ulcer forming and did not voice that suspicion to anyone. Time to deal with that later.

'Anything particular?'

'A bad feeling. It feels like the whole hideous skeleton of the thing is coming clean a bit at a time.' The phrase came to him in a single queasy burst of inspiration and he could taste the rightness of it on his tongue, stinging like salt.

'Explain?'

Draco gestured a bit. 'Imagine cutting into an onion a little at a time and finding each layer is more rotten. What's the next layer going to be, Vaike? How much more horror is there for us to wade through?'

'A lot.'

'I know.'

She touched his brow. 'You're doing well.'

'I feel like I'm walking through the forest again, forever.'

'Drago, we'll get through this.'

He rolled and pressed his face to her chest. 'We can hope.'

When he woke up the ships were landing, and it was time to go ashore. His stomach was burning. He donned his cloak and took his place at the head of the column without a word.

The roads crunched and gritted beneath them. Everywhere the paving stones were shattered and stacked in tilting piles. Buildings, nude of windows, stared blindly at them, scorched and stinking of smoke.

'I don't like this' said Luan flatly, eyes moving across the ruined suburb. 'Something's not right.'

'Anything in particular?'

'We don't know what we're going into and what's apt to happen when we get there.'

'No.'

Luan cocked his head and adjusted the little Albanian cap he often wore. 'Have you ever heard the saying about garden gnomes, Drago?'

'I haven't.'

'If a man's garden has gnomes in it, he should take care not to burn his house down in driving them out.' He frowned. 'It makes sense in Albanian.'

'I know what you mean.'

'Do you?'

Draco dipped his head, watching almost unconsciously with every blink for movement. 'You mean my cousin.'

'I mean all of it. The dragons, Hermione's...skills...this thing with our friend. There are too many unknowns here for it to be safe or comfortable, at least for me.'

'I understand.'

There was movement on the left. The column halted as a few wide-eyed aurors stumbled into the road, hands up. 'We yield!'

Aurors moved to disarm them. Draco left Luan to move forward. 'Who's in charge here?'

'Me, sir.'

'What the hell happened here? Has there been fighting?'

'Some' said one of the aurors. His eyes were glassy. He had seen too much and too quickly, suspected Draco, and now he was travelling those same mental byways that Draco walked nightly.

'Who? Who's fighting?'

'Aurors' said another. 'Some for the Dark Lord and some against.'

'Some of the units are defecting?'

'You could put it that way. Some of them just left.'

'Left for where?'

'Left.'

More aurors came to take the men to the ships and the march resumed. It was a smallish column, all told, perhaps an eighth of their foot, with the air corps marching in the middle, prepared to take to the air at the first sign of trouble. Draco was marching with Luan and the shuffling, eerie Ilya Arbanas, who stared into his own bleak inner world and spoke in monosyllables.

'Three o'clock!' Movement, then, to the right. More aurors, sitting by the roadside like broken dolls. Some of them drooled, heads lolling. Some of them moaned, or cried. Some of them talked. Draco felt his knees start to tremble.

'What's wrong with them?' He knew. Oh dear God, he knew.

A healer was shining a light into the fixed eyes of a female auror with beautiful, coppery hair. She blinked but made no sign that she knew she was there and they were there with her.

'They're responsive to stimuli, so not unsouled.'

'Their minds have snapped, then.'

'Yes, your Grace.'

'Take them to the ships and make them comfortable. Perhaps some of them will come back someday.'

The healer shook her head. 'Thousand pardons, your Grace, but no. Likely most of them are lost for good.'

'Then we can give them the dignity of a clean place to lie.'

'Yes, your Grace.'

A kilometre up the road they found more, and then again. A message sent to Vaike's column and then Uncle Des's found exactly the same thing. Draco forced himself to keep walking, one foot in front of another, feeling the phantom weight of a dying child against his shoulder. The smoke was making his eyes burn.

London was coming into view. The smoke was thicker now, and the smell of death. A scout in front of the column suddenly called out sharply in a language Draco didn't know and then began to retch. 'Luan?'

Luan came jogging back, hat askew. 'We've found the stragglers.'

'How do you mean?'

Luan shook his head. 'They're hanging up.'

'He hanged them.'

'The lucky ones.'

'Luan, damn it, stop being cryptic!'

Luan shook his head. 'Sorry. It...I...'

'It's all right. I can see for myself.'

'Let me have them taken down, Drago. There's no need for everyone to have to see this.'

'No, Luan. We can't afford to look away now.'

Houses were coming into view now, shuttered and bolted. And aurors. Some of them dangled from the lightposts, heads lolling, tongues black, eyes protruding, glazed. It was cold, too cold for flies at least, but not for birds. Or rats. Draco wondered idly whether Peter Pettigrew was amongst them, the king of his verminous kin.

More of them, most of them, were nailed. Or Stuck. Long ropes of intestine danged between their legs, above the gaping holes where their genitals had been. Their mouths were open in soundless screams of agony and horror. As Draco watched, an especially large rook alighted and pecked at the glazed eye of the corpse closest him. Behind him someone was retching.

'Luan?'

'Drago?'

'Count them.'

'Sorry?'

'Have them counted. When this is over, that's what they owe us. On top of everything else, they owe us this.'

Luan nodded. 'Shall we press on?'

They did it, into the blasted, stinking place of burning and death. Wetherell, thought Draco, and then decided, almost casually, that when the time came, he'd take Mcnair Jr's head.


	97. Chapter 97

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.**

**I turned 25 yesterday (the sixteenth) and to celebrate, got my learner's permit! I was as shocked as anyone that the state apparently feels like I should be allowed to drive, but who am I to complain? ;D**

** I'm super-sorry this took so long. Everything is insanely busy right now but hopefully things will settle down soon.**

**TRIGGER WARNING: EXTREME DUB-CON. There's an Yseult/Wetherell scene. Nothing terribly graphic happens that we 'see' but the tone is skin-crawlingly terrible. I have bolded the first and last line of the POV to make sure anyone who wishes to skip it can. Please feel free to contact me for cliffsnote if you would rather not take a risk.**

Rodolphus found himself wondering vaguely what the muggles made of this as they stepped down the road, trying to avoid potholes and step around corpses. He could hear flocks of rooks cawing triumphantly as they fed, sleek and fat as housecats.

'Lucius?'

'Rodolphus?'

'Is this how you imagined our triumphant entry into our capital? When you were a boy, I mean.' A Death Eater, he meant, when they had been young and rich and bored and stupid. Lucius kept pace with him easily, seeming to consider as yet another bloated corpse bobbed on a lamp post.

'No, actually. You?'

'Not quite. I thought it would be...clean.'

'And glamorous. I daresay I thought I would be like a knight in a tale, not a middle-aged man stepping through mud.'

'That makes for two of us.'

'I wonder' said Lucius softly 'how Ivan is getting on at Hogwarts?'

'He seems a very good boy.'

'No doubt he is fine.' Lucius said it like he couldn't quite make himself believe it was true. He turned his head briefly, lips rolled. 'My son, though. Draco is not fine.'

'Has he said anything?'

'No. I can see it in his eyes.'

Rodolphus swallowed hard. 'Your son and my daughter.'

'Hermione...'

'She is not what she was.'

'No. I have always had great affection for her, you know. She has become the daughter Narcissa and I could never have.'

'I know.'

Lucius spoke after some time in quiet thought. 'All is not lost yet. The children are young.'

'Yes. But she is not...she is something I don't know the name for. I love her so much but she has gone somewhere I cannot follow, perhaps forever. What do I do? What do we do?'

'We have waded through much blood, Rodolphus, to be here. Committed terrible atrocities. I watched Cornelius Fudge die. I have done unspeakable things and am prepared to do many more to see the children succeed. So I expect the answer is 'what we have always done, and hope for the best'.'

'What does the best look like?'

'For me? If Draco lives well and does not suffer overmuch with what he has seen and done, then as far as I'm concerned that will be as much as I can hope for, and far more than I deserve.'

'And for Hermione?'

Lucius licked his lips cautiously. 'I have not had occasion to speak with her lately, Rodolphus, so I am going very much on second-hand information. But it seems to me that we shouldn't assume the worst.'

'I would like to agree but find I am struggling.'

'Who could blame you? No parent wants to believe that things are...past one's influence.'

'Have you spoken to Sirius?'

'Yes.'

'What do you make of what Grindelwald has to say?'

Lucius stepped over a corpse. 'He is mad but he is perhaps the most accomplished and dangerous wizard of our or any time. We must weight his help with the knowledge that he's an agenda of his own, one darker and more labyrinthine than we can imagine.'

'That said...'

'I don't know. I am an excellent wizard, Rodolphus. But I am to her as a candle to a burning house. So I do not know what to say, because I cannot predict with any accuracy how it would go.'

'There's the rub.'

'What about you, Rodolphus? What do you think about it?'

Rodolphus could see the dome of Old Bailey in the distance. He was startled to realise that he was thinking about muggles again. He hoped they stayed home today. He hoped they visited their loved ones and took walks with their sweethearts and cooked food and made love a long, long time in front of a fire, and did not come to die in this war they owned nothing in.

'She is...she is not mad. She is very sane, if anything. But not quite...not quite here. It is conceivable to me that she could return to us sometime. But it is just as conceivable that she is gone from us.'

'Gone like Mr. Potter?'

'I don't know. Being with her gives the impression that is not quite...that what she sees is her real world, and we are a distraction from it. She responds to the dragons now. The white one speaks in her mind.'

'I am so sorry, Rodolphus.'

Rodolphus tried to make himself sound optimistic. 'Perhaps this too will pass. When the war is over and the dragons go home to Romania.'

Lucius's voice was endlessly gentle. 'Rodolphus, they might prefer to stay, and who might tell them no?'

'Then she will learn to master it. Master them.'

'That is much the likelier in my mind. Hermione has already proven she can resist the tug of their minds if need be.'

'Yes. I worry about her and Viktor.'

'Why? Is something wrong?'

Rodolphus breathed out. 'If she does not learn to control her magic she will never bear an heir. We need a tsarevich to shore up their claim to the throne.'

'I have thought about that. There is always Ivan.'

'She does have some time. Yokov has forbidden her to...not until she's eighteen. She's too small to do it any sooner.'

'Exactly so.' Lucius looked speculative and older than Rodolphus remembered. And tired, so tired, like Rodolphus himself. Had they ever been young?

'There are moments where my sole comfort in life is knowing that there was no single point, as I recall, where I alone might have turned the tide of things.'

'I have no such comfort, Lucius. When I look at my life, torturing the Longbottoms is the event which divides it in half. If I had chosen better, if I had thought even once to stop, if I had gone upstairs and seen the boy...he would be dead and the end result would be the same.'

Lucius murmured. 'I have never met anyone, Rodolphus, as willing to as yourself to admit their mistakes and try to correct them.'

'For all the good it has done Hermione.'

'Hermione's fate was set before she was born, as was all of ours. All we can do is love her and give her the support she needs.'

'There is nothing I can do.'

'No' said Lucius sadly 'but I believe we are never powerless.'

'How so?'

'There are always choices. To die with dignity, if it comes to that. So perhaps this is where that place will be, where the tide might be turned.'

'Do you think so, Lucius? Truly?'

'I do. I must.'

'We will find a way, brother-in-law.'

Lucius nodded. 'If we do not our wives will.'

'Bellatrix can do it.'

'And Narcissa, and Andromeda as well.'

'Not to mention George.'

'Ah, yes. Mustn't forget George.'

They walked through the muddy, burnt streets, preparing to take the capital city or die. Rodolphus put all thoughts of muggles and children and regret out of his mind and readied himself for the killing to follow.

**At Hogwarts, Yseult Ropion was thinking much the same thing**. She lay passive as Wetherell grunted and muttered above her. There was blood on her thighs and blood in her mouth. She let her head roll to the side, feeling the snake squirming under the small of her back. Her hand stole under to touch Caroline's head quickly and then brought it back when Wetherell used his to pin her more tightly.

'I think once we've won I'll ask the Dark Lord for your friend. A night in a man's bed makes a woman tame, they say.' He thrust harder, grinning, trying to open her one way or another.

'Well, darling? What do you say?'

'If it please you.'

'Good girl' he said, and smoothed her hair. 'Well done indeed. Get on top.'

Yseult did it, trusting Caroline to move. Wetherell sighed as she moved astride him, hands coming up to necklace her throat.'I could kill you.'

'You could.'

'Nothing scares you anymore.'

'The prospect of displeasing my usband and is sworn lord, surely.'

Wetherell laughed out loud. 'Top of the class! Faster now.'

She did it, gaze fixed on the headboard. She could see tiny eyes glittering behind it like gems, oil-spot diamonds. Her snakes were nearby and as soon as she gave the word—very soon now- they would strike.

She moved slower, making Wetherell groan. Bastard, she thought viciously, son of a whore. He gasped and then rolled her over. He was breathing hard. He smelt of nothing, and his breath was like a ghostly touch on her ear.

'It bores me that you are not afraid. Perhaps I'll ask Fenrir to come over some night and we'll see if we can't teach you some manners.'

Yseult would never know what compelled her. She reached up and locked her arms around his neck but very gently and sealed her mouth to his. 'Give me a child, Wezerell. Please, I want to be yours completely.'

His eyes never flickered. 'How touching. Perhaps I will. Tell me, how does your friend look naked?'

'Which one?'

'The queen. I won't fuck a servant's wife, even if she does look quite tasty.'

'She is petite and darkair than me.'

'It makes sense. My father once had her mother, apparently.'

'Did e?'

'He's had all of their wives, the Death Eaters. Except Alecto Carrow, but only Avery is stupid enough to want to plow that particular field. Sort of trollish looking, I've always thought.'

'Quite zo.'

'Honoria Rowle squeals like a whore during, he says. Why don't you ever do that?'

'Should I?'

'I don't know. Nicely bred women don't, but I've got you. So do try to sound a bit more interested next time, won't you?'

'Of course.'

He raised a hand and cupped her face. 'Good girl. Amuse yourself, the adults have things to do.'

She laid back, body throbbing. An elf came with a basin and a strong phial of pain potion and she availed herself of both, not even shaking anymore. A bath would get her set to rights, she told herself wearily, standing. She felt a rush of wet down her thighs and gagged. His non-smell was on her skin. She wished desperately for contraceptive but Wetherell had had her tested twice, and he might snap and kill her if he thought she'd lied to him.

Sliding into clean clothing, Yseult slipped out, not quite creeping. In her pocket, Caroline hissed soothingly, rubbing her head against Yseult's belly to help her feel a little safer. Yseult caressed her smooth, warm head and then kept walking until she was outside the Room. She looked longingly at the entrance and then made herself keep walking, doing a circuit of the castle as she did every night to see what was happening.

The lower she got the more noisy things were, and the more urgent they seemed. She pressed against a wall and kept walking; knowing no one would dare impede her progress. She caught sight of a rat and kicked out, knowing fully it was Wormtail and not caring. He shrilled and skittered, more animal than man these days.

'Yseult?'

'Ello, Fazair.'

Walden Mcnair embraced her absently. 'Everything all right?'

'Yes, Fazair.'

'Wetherell's not hurt you?'

'We love one anozer more by the day, Fazair.'

'He's always been quite high-spirited, has Wetherell.'

Men ran by, shouting. 'They're nearly to Tottenham Court Road!'

Father Mcnair shook his head. 'I was sure we would stop them in Norfolk. Oh, well. Go back to your room, Yseult, like a good little girl.'

'Goodbye, Fazair.'

He turned her and gave her a light press in the right direction. She went, cloak fluttering around her. It was always so cold here, so cold. She decided to take the long way to see if she couldn't find something worth reporting.

She was in luck. Peter Pettigrew, human now, was cowering in an alcove as three wolves pressed in on, one holding him by his filthy hair. They were grinning, Wetherell-like, and slavering too. It was disgusting but perhaps there was some hope here.

'What are you doing to im?'

'Go away, little girl.'

'Stop, I say. E is a Death Eatair.'

'This has nothing to do with you.'

Yseult drew her wand. 'My usband would be very interested in earing about zis, I am sure.'

The wolves backed off a step and Pettigrew, squeaking rat-like, ran to stand behind Yseult. 'I didn't do it!'

'Like hell he didn't. We caught this bastard trying to peep into the woman's tent. Fucker.' One of them kicked at him and Wormtail hissed, baring his yellowed teeth. Yseult's stomach turned at the thought of helping this creature.

'I will tell my usband to deal wiz it, thank you. You may go now. Monsieur Pettigrew, escort me to my rooms, please.'

Wormtail was wide-eyed with wonder as Yseult led him back to the bedroom she shared with Wetherell. She smiled invitingly and lay down on the bed, tugging up her skirts. 'Oh, please' she said, and stunned him so he fell forward, muffling his fall on the mattress. Two elves appeared and helped her rifle the man's greasy pockets.

There were three parchments, all of them covered in dense writing. She copied it onto parchments of her own and sent an elf to give it to Aunt Hetty as the other elf helped her rouse Pettigrew enough to be Obliviated.

The elves took the foul, snoring little man away and Yseult stretched out, Caroline twined in her fingers.** She closed her eyes and went to sleep, feeling her moment drawing closer.**

Metellus Travers was bumping along; tied to a cart some wolves were pulling. His head bounced with every jounce of the potholed road, and a little fresh blood would drip from his nose. He huddled against the post, cringing when they came on people. Sometimes the fighters would spit at him, or throw mud. At least Lucius had stopped them when they started with stones. That was, he supposed, something.

The cart jerked to a stop. He slammed into the pole, yowling. His face still ached from where Kask had hit him with that damned crutch. He was lucky to still have most of his teeth, he reflected, but that was very cold comfort these days.

'Get him down and bring him up front.'

Hands hauled him down. He put his head down and tried to stay still as the wolves shoved him toward the front, cat-calling. The first stream of saliva hit him and he groaned, knowing the night would get worse before it got better.

'Hello, Metellus.'

'Rodolphus.'

Beside Rodolphus Kask cracked his knuckles and grinned direly. 'We need some help, Travers.'

'Do you, boy?'

'I'm going to take your damned tongue the next time you try to give me any shit.' He cracked the other hand and Rodolphus touched his arm.

'Paavo, language.'

'Sorry, Uncle.'

Travers shifted as a handful of reeking mud hit his back. 'What do you need?'

'What do the defenses at the Ministry look like?'

More mud, this time with something slimy in. 'Could we go elsewhere? Somewhere with chairs, perhaps?'

Rodolphus gave the wolves a nod and a few of them dragged Travers to a ruined shop and shoved him down on a stack of bricks. 'Better?'

'Yes, thanks.'

'So the defenses?'

Travers swallowed, trying to remember. 'That was McNair's thing, not mine. I do know that most of the aurors—the real ones—are there.'

'Real ones?'

'Not the conscripts.'

'All right. What about approaching?'

Travers blinked. 'Diagon Alley is heavily defended. Trying to bring troops down is going to be hard.'

'We've thought about that. He's released the Basilisk, hasn't he?'

'I don't know about that. If he did it was McNair Jr, perhaps. Or Avery. I don't know.'

Rodolphus touched his shoulder. 'I believe you, Metellus.'

'I don't.' Kask balled up his fist and drove it into Travers' stomach. 'Where is the Basilisk?'

'I don't know!'

'Where is the Basilisk?' Another punch.

'I don't know!'

'Paavo, enough. I believe him.' Rodolphus helped Travers sit up and shook his head at the boy.

'We will discuss this later, young man.'

'Yes, sir.'

'We needn't encourage him to talk. He knows we'll hang him if he tries to trick us.'

Kask conjured a length of rope and began to twist. 'How many times again, Uncle?'

'Three. There, excellent.'

The boy's fingers flew nimbly over the rope. 'Is that right?'

'Just exactly so. Well done.' Rodolphus nodded paternally and patted the boy's shoulder. He took the noose and looped it easily over Travers' neck, tugging to tighten it. Travers tried to jump up, gasping.

'Really, Metellus, you've always been a touch dramatic but this is a new level. Sit down, it's hardly tight at all.'

Travers forced his legs to lower him, shaking. He was wet, he realised, like a baby. Rodolphus nodded to Kask, who lifted him onto his feet and smiled again. Kask had a genuinely terrifiying smile when he wanted to. And apparently, he always wanted to.

'Back we go. Ready?'

The cart had been moved to the head of the column. Wolves shoved him back into it, conjuring an eyebolt on the top of the post. One of the smaller ones leapt fluidly and simply sat atop the pole, waiting as the end of the rope was thrown up to him. He tied it off, just exactly tight enough that Travers could touch the ground. Barely, but he could.

The cart suddenly began moving forward. Travers gasped, choking, and kept his feet by an act of will. When he looked up he saw Rodolphus waving. Kask was beside him, waving as well.

'Should've left my kid alone, fucker.'

'Paavo Kask, watch your language.'

Kask laughed, nodding and said something that was probably an apology. Travers didn't know. He'd fainted dead away. As soon as he went limp a wolf jumped up to give him a little slack. Just a little. It wouldn't do for him to die. At the moment.

When he came back around Travers was still dangling but his feet were on the ground. The army spread out in front of him like a cloud, and he could sense them behind him as well. He raised his head, neck stiff, and tried to see.

'He's up.'

A wolf grabbed him and loosened the rope. Travers sucked air in greedy mouthfuls as another wolf shoved a bag over his head. Blind and deaf, he found himself flung into space and caught by rough hands, brought forward with his feet dragging and flailing in the dirt.

'Hello, Metellus.'

'Rodolphus?'

'How much do you want to live?'

'I don't want to die. I don't, I don't want to.'

'Help us and you might well live a while longer.'

'What do I need to do?'

Rodolphus's voice was very close to his ear. 'You're getting us into the Ministry, Metellus.'

'We can't.'

'What a shame to die for something so small.'

'The Basilisk. I don't know where it is!'

Rodolphus paused, hand to Travers' bicep. 'That is the roach in the pudding, isn't it?'

Kask's voice came from lower and a touch further way. 'Uncle? We captured three goblins. There might be some way to get from the bank to the Ministry.'

'We need to check that. What do you know about the layout of things now, Metellus?'

'What do you need to know?'

'Everything.'

Travers would have been happy to elaborate had he not been interrupted. Running feet, crunching glass, the smell of hot bodies encased in wool, steaming in the icy, knifing air. 'We have something from the goblins.'

'Oh, good. We'll hear them first, then'

'What shall we do with Travers?'

Rodolphus clapped his shoulder solicitously. 'Since he'll be helping us, let's let him stay.'

When Travers heard the plan tears began to streak down his face under the bag. It didn't bother him as much as the piss, though. Or the laughter which followed it. He dipped his head and waited for the next horror to begin.

Scabior didn't love the plan. Aside from his generalised dislike of goblins (not for anything they could help, he acknowledged freely—just they made his skin crawl), he found these especial specimens to be a shifty lot even for their kind. He scowled at one, who scowled straight back at him with eerie hooked teeth.

'I assure you, human, I would not stoop to lie.'

'Mind ow you speaks to is Majesty, now, you.'

'And if I won't?'

'Please, gentlemen. We're all a bit tense right now.'

Malfoy Jr pinched the bridge of his nose. 'So can we get into the Ministry from there or not?'

'No' said the goblin. 'You can't.'

'Then we need a way to fight the Basilisk, don't we?'

Snape clenched his jaw briefly. 'The problem is that we can't look at it to fight it. We would need a rooster from someplace, or mirrors to reflect it back on itself. There is an answer here at my fingertips that I cannot find.'

Scabior felt the air rippling a second before she came in. Everyone rose to bow. 'Your Majesty.'

'Hello, all.' She sat down, heat radiating from her skin. Scabior could see small beads of moisture on her upper lip. Her power was making his gums ache from nearly a metre away.

'What news, Hermione?'

Flower tented her hands. 'They're waiting.'

'The dragons?'

'Yes. They want to help us. When the time comes they will fight.' Her voice was serene, light and a touch flat. Scabior leant over and touched her wrist, daring to take the liberty because he knew that she wouldn't mind.

'What about now, Flower?'

'Now?'

'We need a plan to get into the Ministry.'

Flower frowned, tongue darting to touch the bow of her lips. 'We can't go through the streets. They're waiting for us. We need another way.'

Scabior could feel something chafing at his mind. 'Majesty? What about under the city?'

'Under the city?'

'Yeah. The sewers, say.'

Nods all round. Paavo Kask grinned suddenly. 'I know just the bloke, Lem.' He nudged the bound and hooded Travers with his boot and the man moaned like a cow. Lestrange touched the man's arm congenially.

'Can we trust him not to try and escape?'

'I was gunna volunteer t go, Boss. I kin keeps me eye on im.'

'We need the schematics of the sewers, then.'

'We aint.' Scabior pointed at the goblins. 'One a them kin take us.'

'What makes you think we'd help you?'

Scabior smiled at him. 'Because, mate, if you aint, or if you try an screw us—pardon, Majesty—I'll cut yer guts out a you a piece at a time.'

'So we'll go in through the sewers and breech the basements?' Malfoy Sr seemed peturbed at the thought. 'It would seem to me that the most likely place for the Basilisk would be the basements and cellars.'

A murmur of agreement. 'Uncle?'

'Majesty?'

'What about the false Horcruxes? He'd want to defend those, wouldn't he?'

'I would think he's had them brought to himself. On the other hand, it might make more sense to hide them elsewhere. Where, though, is the question.'

Flower chewed her lip. 'Sir goblin?'

'Griphook, girl.'

'Would you have some insight into that?'

'If I did I wouldn't tell you.'

Scabior stood up and used his wand to lift the goblin. 'I've ad a bellyful a you, motherfu—mate. If you aint gunna elp then doan say nuthin, understand?'

'Who the hell are any of you? I don't acknowledge your human wars and nor do my kinsmen.'

'Yet you fought for the Dark Lord.' Malfoy Jr looked pinched, like he had a headache. Scabior would say a word to his father or uncle to see about something for it. Even now, he had to watch the kids.

'He said he would raze our warrens if we did not.'

'We'll raze them if you keep being unhelpful. Think about that a moment.'

'A goblin would drown in your sewers. Much as wizards think of themselves, I do not relish the idea of drowning in your shit. Milords.'

Scabior backhanded him. 'Shut up that bad talk in front a er Majesty, damn you.' His hands itched to draw on the little bastard but he didn't.

'Enough. We will assure you do not drown, Griphook.'

'And then what?'

'We will see you are handsomely paid for your time and trouble.'

'How so?' The goblins eyes were gleaming with avarice. Flower didn't hesitate. She bent down a little and spoke softly.

'A tsarina always pays her debts. Always.'

'So you will personally guarantee payment to us?'

'Yes.'

The goblin nodded. 'Fine. We'll get you in.'

'How will we kill the Basilisk when we find it?'

Snape touched her shoulder. 'We have someone searching for a rooster, Majesty, but they are thin on the ground to put it mildly.'

'What else is there?'

'We aren't quite sure.'

She pursed her lips as if in thought. 'We need something that cannot be harmed by the Basilisk's powers. What do we have?'

Griphook spoke. 'We might be able to help you.'

'With what?'

'This Basilisk thing. We have a...useful servant.'

'What sort?'

The goblin looked cagey. 'I hesitate to say in front of so many.'

'Then perhaps you and I ought to take a walk, Griphook?'

Scabior took the goblin's chains. 'Fancy a bit of fresh air, I do.'

Flower moved smoothly into the darkness. 'Griphook?'

'They tell me you have dragon magic. Is that true?'

'Yes.'

'We've a dragon. Blind, so the Basilisk would not be able to strike it dead. The problem, of course, is getting it out.'

'We could probably do it. What do you want in return?'

Griphook licked his lips. His tongues was long and thin and strangely gray. 'It was said that Dumbledore owned many rare treasures. My kin and I want choice of them.'

'How many? What kind?'

'Three, and whichever we like.'

Scabior's knife hand was itching to teach the creepy fuck some respect. He restrained himself, however barely, and simply glared, trying to cow the damned goblin with his eyes. The goblin ignored him.

'We would need your help in retrieving it, Griphook.'

'That could be arranged. For another marvel of Dumbledore's, of course.'

'Four antiquities in return for your dragon's help.'

'I consent.'

'So do I.' Flower shook hands with the goblin.

If Scabior had known the word he would have described the bargain she'd struck as Faustian, but he didn't, so instead he felt afraid.


	98. Chapter 98

**A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and my wonderful, patient reviewers.**

** Long time no see, y'all. I am so sorry this took as long as it did. No excuses, just a promise that I'll try to be more on top of things.**

** That said, some good news: Some of you have said you'd like to see some original fiction. It looks like something is in the works. This would be a e-book on either a major book-selling site (think Penthesilea or the river)or something similar but smaller. I'm still looking at options but if anyone is interested, PM me and I'll give some details.**

Snape bent over Vata and checked his pulse, feeling the clammy slickness of the flesh under his fingers. Vata followed the motion with his eyes, glazed and glassy though they were. He sucked in more air and let out a strained, whistling breath, then stopped. Started again, and so the whole process began fresh as his lungs shut down in earnest.

Galca's shoulders were shaking. Big tears dripped down the man's face and were caught in his beard before they could hit Vata. On his right Paavo Kask was holding Vata's hand, crying as hard as Galca. Anu Tamm was standing a bit to the side, swinging one of Narcissa's peacock fans to keep Enver comfortable as much as he could. Tears were pouring down his cheeks but he kept swinging his arm, never pausing.

The tsar, a little ways away, was kneeling with a small crowd of people as monks chanted to remit Vata's sins. He never had time for anything very much, thought Snape, pierced. Eighteen and dying, how little our time is and how long eternity is to answer it. Malfoy Jr was with him, shoulders shaking with sorrow and tiredness. Ismaili stood on his other side, lips moving in his own prayers as he ran a string of beads through the fingers of one hand.

A man in dark robes bustled over and raised a crozier. 'Do you repent of your sins, Enver?'

Vata nodded once, opening his mouth to gasp for more air. His chest locked and he began to choke, jerking with panic until the muscles loosened. He slumped, sweat slicking his skin. Kask dropped his head and sobbed raspily, shaking his head.

'Do you earnestly desire forgiveness for them?'

Another nod. The priest bent and intoned words that would release Vata's shade from his withering body. Vata slumped, relaxing as if it would be safe to go now. Snape thought—hoped-that if the afterlife was anything like what they said it was, there was a pitcher of ale and a soft chair waiting for the lad.

'Go now, Enver. It's all right. Close your eyes and go.' Galca's voice was terribly gentle. It would take real courage, Snape thought, to send the boy ahead when everything in Galca was screaming for him to find some way to make him live. Snape averted his eyes to respect that, look away from the fellow's sacrifice and Vata's agonal final minutes.

Vata fought. Even now, at the end, Vata was determined to go on his own terms. He leaned back, eyes still open. 'Kask? Malfoy?'

'We're here, Enver.'

Draco, grey-faced, came over. 'What's wrong, Enver?'

'They...'re...coming.'

'Who is, mate?'

Vata laughed rattlingly. 'Here...I...am. Here...at last. Late... late.' His head bent forward and he sucked another huge breath of air and then his chest hitched once, stopped...and kept going. Truly, the human body is a terrible engine, working long past the point of sanity or mercy. Snape moistened a cloth and handed it to Kask, who held it to Vata's lips to wet them.

'I love you, Enver.'

Enver raised a hand and slipped it into Kask's. Squeezed and leaned into Galca. He looked a corpse already, bluish lips and drawn skin over too-prominent cheekbones. His lungs began to seize up again and Galca tightened on him, humming to drown out the hideous horror of the scene. Snape saw it happen. The light slid from Vata's eyes and he slumped a final time, body finally relaxing as death, mercifully, took him.

Galca closed his eyes, tears running down to dot his beard with drops of water as salty as the sea. 'He's gone.'

Kask was still holding his hand. 'His dress uniform is in his trunks. Gibby, get it, please. We need to...need to...someone should write his mother. Except...oh God, Enver.' He dropped his head into his hands and wept as Krum came to hold him, rocking with him as they both cried. Malfoy was weeping too, stroking Vata's face lightly. In the midst of it all Galca was quiet, tears pouring. Half the people he has in the world, Snape realised, and the other half might not live the week. It was not his way to console others, but he went to the man and gently touched his shoulder.

'Mr. Galca, would you rather I fetched a bier for V—Enver, or should you rather carry him?'

'Carry him. Please.' Galca stood, tucking the blanket tighter around the body. The crowd parted for him. Behind them the monks were chanting again to give Vata's shade—surely very close to them now, perhaps even in the room with them yet—help in finding the path to the stars.

The death room had been prepared. Weeping elves were there to receive Enver Vata's mortal shell and wash it, to clothe it in his finest for his journey and then prepare him for his trip to the capital, to be interred in the vault until such a time as they could give him the funeral he'd earnt.

Galca laid him down, touching his hair. 'I would like to stay and help.'

'Please, Master, let us wash him and then come back in.'

Malfoy took the man's arm. 'Let's go tell the others, Costin. Then the vigil can start, all right?'

Above them a few scared-looking stars were peeping through the veil of corruption that hid them from Britain, Dementor-blighted home. The moon was a thin crescent but the light from it, somehow, was brighter than it ought to have been.

The older Malfoys, Vaike Kask, the Lestranges and Feathering were all standing on the deck of the Zhivka when they emerged. Lucius stepped forward to embrace Draco and then the others, even Galca.

'My deepest condolences on your loss, Mr. Galca.'

'Thank you. He's such a good boy.' Galca finally lost his fight. He dropped to his knees and sobbed, rocking, and Kask went to him. The two of them held one another, cutting the night air with the sounds of their grief. Human grief, grief as old and heavy as time. Snape didn't even hear the tsar's boots on the deck. He was just there, face swollen from his own tears.

'Let anyone who says that wolves are not men' his voice was flat and loud and sure 'let them hear of this. Let them hear of it and be thus shamed.' He turned back to the crowd of people.

'Enver will require an honour guard. Who wishes to join it?'

Hands across the deck. He selected fifty of them, with Costin as chief mourner. Wolves were coming now, Pavel leading the others.

'Majesty?'

'Enver has passed away, Nicolae.'

Pavel's lips pursed. 'May he find rest.'

'He is free from pain, at least. The others are not. Would your men see to allowing people time with him once he's dressed? And send for his parents? They'll be our guests until we can get back to see to things.'

Pavel bowed. 'Her Majesty is still meeting with those goblins.'

'I thought as much. Scabior?'

'He's with her. Lem is not fond of goblins.'

'These seem an unusually avaricious lot, don't they?'

Above them the whooshing of wings and the smell of pitch. Snape's head snapped upward as Old Mother led the flight toward them. She opened her mouth and cried out, lowering herself in a smooth flash of white to circle the Zhivka. The others joined her in her music, the high sweet cries of the dragons and their sorrow. What did they know? What did they see? Was the girl doing this, somehow? Snape lowered his gaze just as Pavel said something that made the tsar nod. He stood forward, cupped his hands around his mouth and howled.

The others answered, first Arco and then Istok and the rest of them. Someone somewhere had started the Durmstrang song, and someone else had begun the Albanian anthem. Snape closed his eyes and breathed in and out. Out, again.

Black was at his elbow. 'That was brutal.'

'There are no good deaths, Black, only faster, cleaner ones.'

'That's true. Hermione's been gone a long time with that goblin. Salazar's about to go check on them if she's not back in five.'

'I would.' Snape leaned against the rail and breathed. There were good things happening somewhere but this was not that place. His eye caught something gleaming above his head and he saw it was Tamm, ascending the riggings to pull down their colours. To cover Vata, he realised, and felt something in his chest that might have been sadness.

'Professor?'

The girl, thank God. He turned and embraced her before he had thought about it. She hugged him back, so warm in the cold air that she steamed. 'Professor?'

'Majesty?'

'Enver's dead.'

'I was with him when he departed.'

She burrowed in, sighing deeply. 'Thank you. Would you write Madam Vata a letter to that effect tonight?'

'Of course. How did it go with the goblin?'

The girl tipped her face up and sighed as if exhausted. 'I had to give him pick of Dumbledore's treasures but he'll take us in. A few of us will get the dragon from the bank and the others will attack from the air to cover for the people going in underground.'

'Then what?'

She closed her eyes a second. 'I can't see that far. London is below me and I smell them. They smell like fear.'

'Are you the girl or the dragon now, Hermione?'

'Both.' Her voice was distant, hollow. 'I see so much but I can't see it all. Have Drago plan it from there.'

He touched her face. 'It would kill us if you went mad. Do you know that?'

'I do. I'm sorry, I do.'

Snape hugged her hard, feeling her heart pounding against his own bony chest. How much would I give to take this cup from you and drink it, child? How much would I go through, and how much would I do? It was not possible, any more than he could give her Lily or Eileen. The dead would stay dead and Hermione would continue down her path, as shadowed as it was now.

'You are not alone in this, girl. Not by half.'

Her smile was beatific and normal and when her lips parted he felt a gust of very hot air. It was like a blast furnace but just for a second. Then she was leaning up to peck his cheek, on her tiptoes like a child.

'I have been so loved.'

'And are still.'

So hot, he thought, burning like a flame, her magic roiling under her skin. He could almost, for a second, grasp what she was capable of. Then it slipped away and she was Hermione again, his girl, his child. Love is terrible and so was she, now, terrible because she was something beyond anything any of them knew about. But that didn't change things. Love is terrible but it covers all.

'I love you too.'

He let her go. 'Shall we find your cousin Malfoy?'

'I would like that. Professor? Are you afraid of me?'

'No.' His voice was as flat as he could make it. 'Are you of me?'

'Never.'

Her hand darted into his. 'Draco, then?'

'Draco.' They went off together, not afraid.

Draco himself had had a bit of a nap, and an epiphany. He had slept three glorious hours and then risen, feeling a sense of purpose. More accurately, he had donned his clothing in the knowledge that his legacy was well and finally set. It could grow no worse. His capacity for horror was finally reached, and now he would able to deal with whatever came. He fastened his tunic and thought about taking Mcnair Jr's head, thought about the weight of Stefan's in his hand. Felt glad.

'Drago?'

'Viktor?'

'We need to scout the Ministry. Do you want to come?'

As it happened, Draco would. He sent for his equipment and mounted his broom, wife by his side. 'Darling, I couldn't prevail upon you to stay here?'

'Not on your life.' She dropped her goggles and tightened her scarf around her neck. 'I want that fucking Carrow woman.'

Paavo was beside them as well, face taut. He gripped the staff of his broom with terrible strength, staring straight ahead. Viktor signaled the corps and they rose as one, flanked by mages casting strong wards on them, and dimming them so the loyalists wouldn't be able to see them as readily.

Draco raised his wand. 'For the Empire! For the tsar!'

The others echoed it and they ascended, taking the sky. Below them London was lit up like a jeweled robe, muggle lights reaching into the sky. He followed the others, ducking down to make himself as small a target as possible.

Viktor paused. His voice carried despite the fact he was not shouting, and Draco found himself remarking on it, how changed his shy cousin was, how changed they all were.

'A small group of us will circle around to check the side streets and other potential routes of escape. One group will go directly over the roof of the Ministry and assess the situation. Drago?'

'I'll go.'

'I'll go too.' Paavo spoke up, voice raspy from crying so long and so hard. Viktor touched his arm and nodded, face long with concern. 'I want you to be careful. If things look like they're going poorly come back.'

The group pulled together to make as small a target as they could. They crept forward, knowing that the charms would not do very much or hold very long. Paavo was almost visibly vibrating with anger or hurt or something.

'Paavo? Stay calm.'

'I will.' He never wavered in his control of the broom. 'Enver's dead. I want someone to pay.'

'I understand but we need to be careful. Vaike will kill me if something happens to you.'

'She'll be fine.'

The Ministry was dark. Loud, but dark. Packs of people that could only be wolves moved in knots below, checking papers and moving from door to window, checking entrances. Draco creeped them forward, crouching almost on the top of his broom.

Draco moved closer and then pulled back. Movement, he thought, instinctively calling the group to a stop with a single gesture of his hand. Beside him Paavo raised his wand and very slowly cast a tiny bit of light.

Draco turned his head and retched. Behind him others were doing the same, and someone peeled off the group and moved with stealthy haste to get Viktor, or someone. Children, he thought, children, children. Oh my God, oh my God. Children.

They were chained along the roofs in bunches, chained and left for days. Some of them were dead, lolling in their chains, but some of them weren't. They cried out pitifully, weakly, like kittens. Some of them were blue with cold, or in the middle stages of frost-bite. Below them courtyard of the Ministry was full of small figures and Draco knew what that meant. He retched again, bringing up just water now.

'Fuck me.' Paavo sounded like he'd woken from a bad dream to a worse one. He hovered in silent horror for a thousand beats before he said softly 'So what now, Malfoy?'

'I—shite, I don't know. You, auror, get me the tsar.'

They hovered in a knot. Tears were running down Viktor's cheeks. 'We'll have to find a way, is all.'

'We're losing them by just sitting here. Should we go back and...what?'

Draco breathed out. 'We need to move. We'll take the fleet and make contact in the outer borroughs. That will draw some of the fighters from the Ministry off while we use the skiffs to save the kids. It will also be enough of a distraction that they won't notice us in Gringott's until it's too late. Then we'll free the dragon. Hermione can corral it until we can sap the Ministry from the sewer and use Travers to get us topside. Then we'll take the Minister and whomever else and go from there.'

'They might be expecting some kind of diversion, mightn't they?' Viktor was still staring horror-struck at the scene before them, shuddering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

'We should also plan to draw the fighters that remain in the Ministry as high as possible to keep the route to the Minister's office clear. Thoughts?'

'Set the roof on fire.' That was Paavo.

'Would you be willing to supervise a controlled burn, then?'

Paavo thumped the staff of his broom for emphasis. 'Damned right I am.'

Viktor nodded. 'All right. The basilisk?'

'Fuck me, I don't know.' Draco felt like he could cry except that it wouldn't fix anything. How the hell would they get the thing to where the dragon could attack it? Would the dragon attack it? Were they wagering all this on something that was going to make their situation worse?

'We need to move, those kids are dying.' Paavo sounded too calm. 'I'll kill those fuckers for this, I swear it. Let's go.' He turned without a word and took off back toward the fleet. Viktor blinked and followed him, leaving Draco working on the last piece of this bizarre puzzle.

Sirius saved them, sort of. They called an emergency meeting and explained the situation, and Sirius paused, hand up. 'The lights are out?'

'They are.'

'Why don't we use the dogs?'

Draco couldn't be hearing this right. He raised his eyebrows and tried to make this make sense. 'Sorry?'

'The dogs can track it by smell. I can transform and lead them myself so they'll know what to do. We can try to drive the thing above ground so the dragon can finish it off, but how would we protect the troops from potentially seeing it?'

One of the mages spoke. 'Nothing comes from nothing.'

'The brightest lights cast the deepest shadows.'

'The night is dark and full of terrors.'

'From darkness, light.'

Fucking obscure shite, thought Draco and then made himself nod. 'Thank you, my lords.'

One of them held up a gloved hand. 'You doubt us.'

'I doubt much, at the moment.'

'Understandable.'

'Not wise.'

'But understandable.'

A mage spoke up. 'Your Grace, we could help with that. Suppose the lord seers...well, it rather made me think, what they've said. We could send some mages down with the dogs. If they could guide us we could use our staves to freeze the thing.'

'Freeze it?'

'Wrap it in ice. It's cold-blooded, isn't it? Like a snake?'

Draco suddenly got it. It felt like having a bolt passed through the place directly between his eyes. He stood up straighter and nodded. 'We could immobilise it with ice and then find a way to get it above ground. Once it was above ground we can loose the dragon on it, ideally.'

'Actually' said the mage a bit more confidently 'we could use the ice to draw the thing out. By your Grace's leave.'

'Explain?'

'We'll come in behind your dogs and drive the thing forward by making it too cold for it down in the basements. We'd need the dogs to lead us but we could just bring it up the stairs and then get it into the courtyard, even the street.'

'What about the aurors, though? We can't ask them to fight in the pitch darkness. As many places to hide as there are in the Ministry? It'd be a slaughter.'

Pavel spoke up. 'Leave that to me and my people. My lords.'

'It's a terrible risk, Mr. Pavel.'

'Not for us. We can use our sense of smell to hold off any incursions by Greyback's boys and sense troop movements. Once that's done we can try to find the Minister and then take the Ministry itself.'

'So we are all in agreement?' Nods all round.

'Do it, Drago.' Viktor looked like he would see the children on the roof for a very long time indeed. Probably he would.

Draco had long ago accepted objectively that he was probably history's greatest butcher, or would be before he was thirty. Now, having to cold-bloodedly make the call, it felt oddly familiar in a detached, comforting way. Now his path was well and truly set. Now there was nothing he could not do.

'Get me Anu and then call the troops. We're going to take the Ministry.'

The men assembled and Draco raised his wand to his throat. 'THE HELL WITH GIVING A SPEECH. ARE YOU COMING OR NOT?'

The roar of approval from the troops was so loud, it almost made Draco smile. He climbed onto the ships and waited for things to start happening. I could be dead soon, he mused, and distracted himself from the cold truth of it by imaging the comforting, wet-hot weight of Wetherell Mcnair's head.

Sirius Black transformed, barking once to get the attention of the fifty-two others, who turned and bowed in unison. He bowed back and began to instruct them on what had to happen even as the ships took to the sky and began to approach the city proper, coming in low and fast, clusters of aurors at the rails to provide covering fire. The tension in the air was like a film that covered everything, shifted the air currents with the promise of violence. He changed back and waited for orders.

The first blast of anti-aircraft fire shook the Narcissa just above Shoreditch. The ship kept moving as ward-setters rapidly repaired the hole in the wards. The men were screaming as they got closer, ready for the fight to come. Beside the Narcissa, the Cunegarde and the Walburga were going in hard and fast, firing down on the lines of aurors firing up at them.

Viktor jumped onto the rail of the Zhivka and raised his wand. 'FOLLOW ME!' Then he was gone over the side as aurors fought with one another to join him. Sirius grabbed a line and jumped, swinging down to hit the ground and start to fire.

He felt a hand close around his arm and spun, wand up. It was Scabior. 'COME ON!'

The little man turned and fled, leading him down twisting allies and up crumbling closes until they came to an anonymous man-hole cover. Scabior conjured a crowbar and levered the top off. More men were coming from the shadows, more wolves, and Travers, bound and hooded. One of the wolves yanked the hood off and held him tightly by the arms as the top came off. Scabior never hesitated; he charmed himself and then leapt downward into the appalling stink and the others followed. Sirius came last, bubble-charming himself against the stench of London's shit and even more unmentionable miasmas.

'We got to get snug against the side of the Ministry.' Scabior's voice sounded nasal from his own bubble-charm but very sanguine for that all. He was straining a bit to keep his head above the ordure, until a wolf pulled him up a bit and charmed him to stay so he could keep his head free, at least.

'Travers? Move us forward.'

Travers gibbered. 'I smell it I smell it I-'

Scabior lashed out with a fist. 'Shut up, you! Move or die!'

Travers, crying, moved them forward, into the hideous stinking mess as above them aurors fought and died.

Viktor had taken a slight wound but that wasn't what was making him so nervous. He was walking next to Hermione, head up, through the silent lobby of the Wizarding bank of London. It was not dark; the windows were lit up from the fires burning in the streets. It made the walls flicker with weird and terrible shapes, as if the dead were dancing there. He crossed himself to apologise for the impious thought and then pressed forward.

The goblin leading them paused and rapped at a door. It opened at once. A female shuffled out and stared at him and then them as they spoke rapid-fire in a high hissing language. Finally she moved aside and the goblin gestured. 'Well? Go, if you're going.'

Hermione dropped to her knees and crawled through the door, curling up like a child to fit. It would be even harder for the others, realised Viktor, who was six feet two on a bad day. Drago was just a bit shorter but he got through by crushing his own elbows to his ribs. Viktor was last; he had to contort himself like a string to get through but get through he did.

The warren opened before them like a flower made of stone. Paths to everywhere were carved in the sides of the rock, with little doors that opened directly onto them. Would humans fit on the path? Would they have to?

Their guide grunted. 'Stop gawping and come on, we need to get through here and to the vaults.'

The other goblins stopped and stared as they moved through the close, musty warrens of the world below the world. It smelt like dirty clothes and cooked food and unwashed skin.

The roads were as narrow and winding as he would have thought them. The humans wobbled a little, putting one foot carefully in front of the other. The goblin gave no apparent consideration to their needs and sped along, head down.

They came to a tiny, narrow door high in the rock above them. The goblin paused, raising a hand above his head. 'There it is.'

'How do we get up?'

The goblin turned his head and shrugged elaborately. 'Your problem. I can climb it, at least.' He kicked off his shoes and Viktor saw that his feet were clawed and flattened. He began to ascend without looking back, clearly indifferent to their plight. Drago swore under his breath. 'Ideas?'

Hermione touched his arm. 'I'm lightest. Use a feather-light charm to get me up and I'll steer myself to the door and send down some rope for the two of you.'

Drago drew and pointed his wand at her. Her feet left the ground and then she was sailing above them, using her magic as a rudder. When she approached the door she Stuck herself and then sent down two ropes to haul up her husband and cousin.

Griphook reached the door about that same time and released a small grunt of annoyance. 'Not entirely dense' he acknowledged and then stuck a clawed nail into a small indentation in the rock. It swung inwards, leaving room for them to crawl in, if barely.

It was the tightest place Viktor had ever been. He just barely fit, squeezed on either side by slabs of rock as thick as a castle wall. He had to lay on his belly and squirm like a snake through a lot of it, dragging himself along by his hands.

The end of the tunnel came out on a platform cut into rock. A metal cart whooshed to a stop in front of them. Griphook climbed in, snorting his irritation at their human stupidity. 'Well, are you coming or not?'

They all piled in. The goblin abruptly reached back to seize Hermione's wrist. 'What ails you? You're as hot as a blast furnace.' He hadn't been so close to her before, and goblins, Viktor remembered from his classes, had a higher body temperature than humans.

'Dragon magic.'

'Hmm' said the goblin. 'Perhaps this really will work, then.' He projected vague bemusement at the idea more than anything. The cart took off, quick as a really good racing broom. If things had not been so deadly serious Viktor would have enjoyed it very much, he thought.

As quickly as it had been going the cart stopped, rattling the teeth of the three humans. Hermione

stood up first. 'Where do we go?'

'Follow me.'

The goblin led them through a narrow, winding tunnel to come into a place broad and flat enough for a dragon. It was a Ukranian Ironbelly, a little stunted and small from spending its life confined, but still beautiful. The headcrest said it was a male. It—he—spread his wings and roared, voice filling the cavern.

Then he stopped. His head went up and he sniffed the air. His next cry was plaintive, almost a moan. His nostrils quivered, smoke jetting from them in twin plumes of white. His wings twitched as if some ancestral memory were tasting the sky and he moaned again.

The goblin bent and retrieved something from a box. He shook it and the dragon cringed back, growling. It was bells sewn to a chunk of leather harness. Hermione grabbed the goblin's arm, taking no heed of his outraged yelp.

'Stop it, you're scaring him! What have you done to him?'

Griphook stared at her, incredulous. 'How dare you put yo-'

The magic took Viktor by shock. It came from nowhere and everywhere at once, like a wall, and the sheer force of it washed over them like the tide. Griphook froze, stiffening. A little blood was running from the thin nostril to spatter on the floor.

'What. Have. You. Done?'

'We had to...pain, it's the only way, we...' The goblin made a thin high sound of distress. Hermione's hair was moving in the breeze from her magic, her skin throwing off a high heat like summer sunshine.

'What did you do?'

'Hot swords, we would burn it to make it obey.'

The magic swelled and Drago groaned, dropping to his knees, holding his head. 'Stop it stop it it's in my brain oh God I feel it there it's inside my brain stop it Hermione oh stop!'

Hermione set the goblin down without another word and stepped forward. The dragon swiveled his great white head and moaned again, tail cutting the air. The fleshy wings snapped open and fanned, creating a cool wind in counterpoint to the one that was coming from nowhere, generated by the force of Hermione's magic.

Viktor's heart stopped entirely. Hermione moved where the dragon could clearly see her, and smell her, and taste the magic on her skin. She raised a hand and the dragon roared, moving back, and then shot a jet of flame at her.

Her magic came up just in time to protect her. She kept her shields up, shimmering in the midst of the conflagration as it burnt itself out. The dragon moaned again, torn between desire and fear. Hermione crooned softly and took a step forward, reaching out with her hand. The dragon's wings beat a tattoo in the air, swooping through the stale and musty smell of the cavern. A thin cloud of dust rose to make all of them cough.

The dragon lowered his head and stilled his wings so Hermione could approach. She touched the flank, hand tiny against the vast ribs, and the dragon bent to sniff her. When his head came up Viktor could see a thin film over the great green eyes and knew the beast was blind.

Hermione's hand touched the pointed snout and then the dragon's ears. Her fingers explored the head crests and the dragon puffed softly as if in a laugh. Hermione laughed too, utterly lost in the Ironbelly. Her other arm went round his neck and she hugged like a child, and the dragon accepted it. He butted his head against her chest and nearly knocked her down. Hermione laughed again and stepped back as if to ask the dragon something.

'He says we can.'

'Can what?'

'You first, Viktor. Just come here, all right?' Viktor's feet carried him despite his mind's increasingly loud protests as he took himself to her side and let her take his hand in her own. The thing's snout felt like luggage, he thought dizzily, and then a Ukranian Ironbelly was sniffing him moistly, exploring a little. A long and very hot tongue, prehensile, came out to brush across his face and explore his eyes and nose, brush gently at his jaw. It was like being held by the giants, strength and gentleness.

Drago was next. The dragon seemed very interested in him as well, nosing his arm worriedly as if he could smell the Mark. Probably he could. Finally he bent down and extended his wings, angling his torso. Hermione never looked back to see if they were following. She simply climbed on, settling right behind the dragon's head.

'Hurry, we need to go!'

It was now or never. Viktor made himself imagine it was just a tree or something and jumped up, nearly losing his footing. Hermione used her wand to steady him and he snuggled up against her, chest to her back.

When Drago was on the dragon he spread his wings and flapped. Hermione turned and swished at the chain holding the dragon in place, which glowed red. Viktor joined his magic to hers and the chain began to soften and melt under the heat of their spell.

'We've got company!'

A whole platoon of goblins was coming toward them, wands held in a position that suggested they weren't friendly. Viktor stood up. 'This is the tsar. Vhat is the problem?'

'Fire!' Spells began to fly thick and fast as they moved forward, firing back. One of the goblins—Griphook, that duplicitous little traitor—grabbed the bells and shook them. The dragon lurched to a stop, growling, wings going still as more goblins appeared.

Hermione's wand was moving like a sewing needle. Without even looking down, without even changing strides, she touched the dragon's head with her free hand. 'Go through them, please.'

The dragon made a thick noise of distress and Hermione, caressing his head, said casually 'Because I'll lead you. Hurry now.'

The dragon's wings began to move and he rose unsteadily, taking flight for the first time. His tail whipsawed back and forth, knocking goblins down. His head snapped back and a jet of fire whooshed out, leaving a trail of shrieks and moans in its wake.

'Where are we going?'

'Not a clue.' Hermione's head rose like the dragon's and she said suddenly 'That way, up and to the right.'

'How do you know?'

'He can sense the air. We're following his lead.'

'Is he in your mind?'

'Yes.' She didn't seem disturbed a bit. 'It's all right. We just have to-'

Below them the dragon juddered and snarled suddenly, hovering. More goblins were appearing as they wait. The dragon, perhaps sensing his tormentors, or smelling them, dove down like the world's most terrifying broom and set to, head snapping side to side as his jaws closed around goblins and shook, howling with rage. The goblins turned and ran and the dragon pursued them, learning his wings as he went. Hermione was unruffled, holding his head crests until the last goblin was dead or run off.

'We have to go now.'

The dragon took them straight up and then just burst through the wall, choking cloud of plaster and stone dust trailing them. Above them the sky called through the decorative glass dome and they went directly up, Viktor firing a quick cushioning charm to make sure that none of them got cut.

When he felt the first lash of the wind the dragon screamed, human-like, in triumph. His head turned and he rose, headed toward the Ministry. Somewhere the other dragons answered him and the flight rose to meet him, singing their harsh music.

Old Mother came first. She cocked her head and snorted, smoke pluming. Hermione giggled as if she was being play-scolded. 'We couldn't leave him like that, Old Mother.'

Old Mother flew closer and nosed the male, who permitted it, wings pumping. She studied him gimlet-eyed for a long moment and then bent her own wing. Hermione leapt into space without a word and then was clamouring onto Old Mother's back, as if she were changing divans. A Welsh green came for Drago and then Viktor was alone with the blind male. He touched the head crests and the dragon leaned his neck back as if to show he approved.

Old Mother wheeled and arrowed forward toward the Ministry, and the other dragons followed. For the first time in living memory, three dragons and three riders moved in unison, toward war. Viktor closed his eyes and surged forward, hearing the exultant beating of his heart and the dragon's, as one.


	99. Chapter 99

**A/N: Hey, gang! Long time no see!**

** I am so, so sorry this took as long as it did. As you might have guessed, I finally found full-time work :) Still, here I am and here, hopefully, I will remain, as I've missed the Strange Invisible-verse and all the people in it.**

**My beloved SignoftheTimes helped enormously, as always. We're still roommates and still have a really good time. Newt is well and as evil as ever.**

**Hoping the same is true of all of you, and wishing you a happy, safe and prosperous 2014,**

**Madea**

Nicolae Pavel shoved forward through chest-high shit, moving the gibbering Travers with him as they slogged deeper into London's stinking heart, the ancient sewers above them giving evidence to the great age of the city and its infrastructure; some of the graffiti was in Latin or even runes.

Pavel stopped as Arco raised a hand. He pressed his ear to the wall and nodded once. 'Mages?'

Three came forward. One of them raised her staff and began to chant in a high, sweet voice as the other two stood well back. The sewage began to move, slowly flowing backward. Could they have done that earlier, thought Pavel, piqued, but then Black was turning and went racing to get the other dogs.

The two remaining mages waited until the first was done to begin their own tasks. The second raised her staff and tapped. The wall did not vanish. Rather, it became dim, as if it were its own outline, and the third mage began to dissemble it piece by piece, the building groaning once and then settling as if nothing were the matter.

The gap was widening, wider, and now wide enough. The group moved in, dripping foully on the floor, and then the mages were closing the gap, with the pack of dogs in tense but silent readiness. Black growled suddenly, muscles locking as he hunkered down, hackles rising.

Pavel touched his back. 'What is it?'

Black's dog-nose was wet and cold under his hand. He nudged, grunting. Pavel could smell them coming; carrion-reeking, jack-booted, bloody-mouthed, charnel-minded. He growled too, low in his chest, and the other wolves came closer, packing together, hands hooking.

'Hold' hissed Lem. 'Hold a moment, lads.' He crept forward on his belly, straining to see outward in the very faint glow. The mages finished their work and the room was plunged into darkness. Arco dropped and crawled out to get Lem, tugging him back, and then went out again. Nicolae could hear Eugen sniffing and then he eeled back to where Nicolae was crouching down. 'Ten are coming.'

'We should welcome them.'

He could hear the small muscles of Eugen's face work as he grinned. 'When all you have is a hammer...'

The mages didn't need to open the wall again. One of them just dimmed it as the others drew through a stinking, endless stream and waited. The jack-booted feet continued to pound closer until they stopped not more than a few corridors over. One of them spoke.

'I smell somefin' he said in an accent Nicolae was straining to follow 'but I ain't hear nuffin.'

'Maybe a wall finally went.'

'Mebbe.'

The boots came closer. The wolves crouched, waiting. Lem smelled like he was grinning. 'We should leave one t carry the tale' he breathed. 'So it'll draw em down.'

'I agree. Hear that, gentlemen?'

Muted agreement from the wolves. The jack-boots were closer now. He could smell them coming. Another growl rose in his throat, vibrating in his throat and belly. He crouched down, waiting, and then the mages loosed the wall of sewage on them, and in the confusion the wolves attacked.

It was a short, pitched battle, and when it over and the lone remainder of Greyback's flunkies sent running to carry the tale as Lem had suggested, they pressed forward, Arco leading them by smell and hearing.

The sound of it was like silk drawn over silk. Pavel shuddered, knowing it was close, and then raised a hand to stop the column. In the dark he could clearly see where the other wolves were, even if he couldn't make out their faces more than just the shape of their features.

'Humans to the back and on the inside. Eyes down. Watch Travers, Gorgiu.'

They formed into a sort of chain. Pavel moved to the front and took Arco's shoulder as they pressed tightly together, belly to back. Arco took a slow step forward and then another more sure one.

The basilisk was nearing them now. It didn't feel like the other wolves had; this had an element of inevitability to it, a sense that things would play out as they played out. He shut his eyes more tightly and stepped in time with the others.

'Mages.'

The mages pressed forward. Through his lids Pavel could see the muted light from their staves as they raised them by feel and tapped. It should draw the creature, they thought. Maybe. One of them leaned toward him and then a soft cloth was covering his eyes. Pavel relaxed as the blindfold protected his gaze from the basilisk.

'Do you feel it?'

'Yes' said the lead mage. 'He's coming. He's here.'

That maddening sound. It was close now, so close that the fetid smell of the thing was almost worst than the choking stench of the shit that was dripping down their charmed bodies. Pavel had to fight his instinct to snarl and then run as the sound and the stench enveloped them blind. The basilisk was upon them, the basilisk was here.

The cold felt like a blanket. It came from nowhere and everywhere, cold enough that his toenails began to ache and his nosehairs crackle. The basilisk paused. The head揺ow it rasped and hesitated on the rough stone! The sound of it!-dragged slowly as it sniffed them with a wet, sticking sound that made his skin crawl.

It progressed again but more slowly, cautiously as the first tendrils of cold wrapped around the terrible body. He stayed directly against the wall and waited, smelling the thing, his heightened hearing making every noise a torture. It was coming. It was here.

A mage's staff, blindingly bright now. He raised his head instinctively as the sun seemed to flood in. The basilisk stopped and opened its mouth. It roared, stones shaking. A chip hit his shoulder and Nicolae ducked and then froze again.

He felt it go by. It brushed him, skin sickeningly smooth and soft, soft like a rotting corpse is soft. The cold was getting worse. The stones pressing his back were icy, unbearable. He groaned between clenched teeth despite himself and then drew in a sharp breath as the smell overwhelmed him completely.

The basilisk was thrashing now, flailing against the cold and ice which were slowing it. Behind him Travers was wailing and Lem was hitting him, rythmic as shushing. The column moved and Nicolae moved with it, step by agonising step. The ground was slippery underfoot. Ice, he thought, and then the column advanced again as the dogs pushed forward, led by Black, and began to bark.

It was a confusion of sound and stenches and sensations, when he tried in later life to think back. Just a lot of disconnected stimuli that had felt baffling and scary at the time. His feet kept going one in front of another and his hand found purchase on the wall, the one that wasn't gripping Eugen to keep the column together. The dogs were barking and snarling, eyes shielded for them as Black, with his own little blindfold, driving them on with his hoarse basso yelps and snaps.

From high above them there was a splitting, tearing sound and then a clap of thunder that shook Nicolae's teeth in his head. 'The roof!'

The others took up the cry. 'Paavo got the kids!'

The wolves cheered raggedly and then pushed forward, a new urgency in them. The flames would melt the ice if they didn't move quickly enough now. The basilisk was whipping its head from side to side but the struggle was weaker now. This seemed possible, if barely.

Above them the fire was singing as it ate the roof, and the wolves cheered again. 'Fuck the Dark Lord!'

With that sentiment swirling through them, the group began the task of getting the basilisk outside, as fire began to harry them from above and the next party of Greyback's boys got ever closer.

Nagini could smell change in the air, a sense of things altering and shifting that made her nervous. She raised her head, sniffing, and decided to call some of her little snakes to see what there was to see. Then she coiled herself around Hetty-Speaker and little Eda-young, sometimes lightly nudging one or the other to test that they were still breathing.

Greg-young was approaching her, shoes clicking. 'Nagini? Just got a letter from my da. Troop movements from here to London. Draco'll be here before too long, I should think.'

Nagini dipped her head and used the tip of her tail to ruffle his hair to show her understanding. Greg-young smiled a bit. 'When the time comes, we need to make sure the elves can get the kids clear. Me, I'm staying here.'

She quirked her tail, eyes narrowing disapprovingly. He was doing what? Despite his lamentable lack of skill in Speaking, Greg-young could guess. He gestured about them both.

'I helped make this. Not on purpose but I did. Now I'm going to fix it.'

No, he wasn't. 'Greg-young is not either' Nagini hissed, hoping that would translate. Greg-young touched her head fondly. 'Sides, Da'll need some help and I know the castle inside and out, now.'

Nagini held up the tip of her tail for quiet. Footsteps, coming closer. She could pick up at least ten distinct sets, some humans and some man-wolves.

'Oi in there.' The smell of him, she thought revolted. Of it. A creature like a man but who wasn't, a creature with a man's face and a man's heart but empty inside, cold like stone. She raised up to strike, herding children behind herself.

'We know you're in there.'

No one moved. No one spoke. Greg-young crept to the place where they entered and a small clear glass-thing opened. He shrunk down and pressed an eye to it. Could the men葉he things熔n the other side not see him?

'We know you're in there, Goyle. And Krum, you little motherfucker.' Some of them waved sticks at the empty spaces and made things to sit down on. Greg-human relaxed a little bit, shaking his head. 'They can't get in but we can't get out, now. What'll we do?'

Hetty-Speaker showed her teeth. 'Darling, let us take care of that. Nagini, when the snakes come back would you let me know?'

Nagini curled up around her and dropped her head for a nap. 'Nagini will do that. Nagini thinks Hetty-Speaker should sleep now.'

So the two of them did it, and Nagini waited, coiled, for her moment to strike.

In another part of Britain entirely, Metellus Travers sobbed as the wolves shoved him roughly through the twisting, winding tunnels of the Ministry's underground in order to drive the Basilisk庸oul, unnatural beast熔utside. His foot kept catching on the stones and he would stumble, and then hard, claw-like hands would right him and force him onwards. He could feel the air getting hotter and colder too, as the flames spread and they got closer to the outside. Once there was the beginnings of a skirmish but the basilisk, maddened, made short work of the boys Greyback sent, and they pressed onward against the heat as the mages made more and more ice to slow the thing so that it could be driven outside.

Travers had never seen himself as a bad man. A weak man, possibly. A man who liked the comforts of his easy, predictable life rather more than liberty and blood purity and everything else, and who had joined the Death Eaters mostly because he thought they gave him the best chance at preserving those things, but not a bad man as someone like Greyback was a bad man, or young McNair.

As he stumbled, he reflected on how a person as average預s unbad預s himself had ended up here, pushed along in the dark, his own piss dried raspy and salt-hard against his legs. There was no moment he could point to, definitively, as the key one, and finally he stopped trying, shaking his head a little as if to negate what was being done to him.

Finally the pushing stopped. Travers went still, raising his head a little. They were still, he perceived, under the ground. The tunnels were getting hotter, the ice dripping down the back of his neck as he stood.

'We're at a fork. What next, Travers?'

'I don't know.'

'You do.' The wolf punched him hard in the kidney and he went down, moaning. Travers heard water splashing under someone's feet and then Scabior was looming over him, hands tangled in his hair. He knew it was Scabior because the man bent down, mouth to his ear, and spoke.

'Fuckin useless cunt, you are. I oughts t open your throat rite now an save us all some damned bother.'

'No, no! Left! Left fork!'

A wolf hauled him back to his feet and pushed hard. 'Move, pimp! There's no women here for you to sell!'

That was, part of Travers' brain gibbered, a reference to something. His mind refused to conjure it and it faded as they climbed a few sets of slick, treacherous steps and then seemed to emerge into a wide-open space. The fire was much louder here and much closer; the heat seared his face and hands, made his nose-hairs feel crisp. Travers stumbled forward and his hands flew up, bound, to catch his fall. They slammed into something. The statue?

So it had come full circle even now. He had been wounded here once, badly, his sole moment of heroism, by these same men driving him through the corridors. He had been part of the group that voted to approve helping Bulgaria fight the werewolf menace just upstairs of here. He had left from here to visit Cunegard Lestrange of the thousand last names and a stare like a gorgon's.

How, finally, had it come to this? He raised his head more and tried to figure out where the basilisk was. He could hear the eerie scales slipping over the marbles and shuddered violently, stomach contracting like he needed to retch.

'Shit' said a voice 'here they come!'

Travers took his moment to strike. He raised his hands, ripped off his blindfold and shouted. 'It's Travers! Save me, save me!' He blundered toward the figures coming from the smoke even as they raised their wands and fired.

He dodged, tugging hard at the ropes binding his hands. Nothing happened. He stumbled toward the line of Greyback's boys and aurors, shouting, and then, blessedly, one of them recognised him. He felt hands謡olf hands, but friendly wolf hands, at least, grab him, and someone cut the ropes. He raised his hands victoriously and someone shoved a wand into them.

And then they were leaving. He found himself on the floor, clutching the wand. He jumped up, shouting. 'What are you doing? I say, what are you doing?'

One of Greyback's boys turned. 'We're needed elsewhere, mate.'

'But you can't just leave me!'

The wolf smiled a little. 'Dark Lord's afraid you've been telling them things, Metellus. He seems to think a hero's death would be best for us all.'

'What?'

'Our country thanks you for your sacrifice.' The wolf spun and sprinted after his fellows. Doors shut someplace with a clang that sounded, to Metellus Travers, like the signal that marked the end of his life.

He spun, wand high. He was a Death Eater, after all. He could die like one. He fired the first salvo. There was no answer. Travers blinked, wondering what was happening. He never did get an answer.

The last thing he saw was a gray face, like death itself, snake-like and awful. He was dying as he fell but he still felt, very faintly, the teeth that entered his neck and tore. His head popped off and bounced across the floor, expression faintly surprised. Blood was gushing from the stump of his neck but that stopped, like everything else in his life, undramatically, notable in no way at all.

Travers' shade, shorn from its mortal shell, blinked in surprise, once, as the basilisk turned from the husk that had housed it to face the other tormentors. The mages raised their staves and began to drive the creature outside as Travers's shade, if it was there, watched in mild puzzlement and then drifted off, unmoored, and suspecting that perhaps its destination was not very nice, after all.

Moody-Feathering would have been inclined to agree but he was fighting too hard. The flames above his head葉heir head容ncouraged a degree of hurry but overall he felt very calm. These were familiar corridors and he was quick and competent.

Beside him the Lestrange brothers ran silently, their knowledge of the Ministry nearly as complete as his own. He led them up a few flights of stairs and then raised his wand to the closed door.

'On my count, lads. One, two葉hree!' They burst through, wands raised, and then began to fire. The aurors stood, trying to resist them, and some of them actually lasted a little while before they died.

The air was thickening with smoke. Moody-Feathering held up a hand to the few remaining defenders. 'Drop your weapons, children. There's enough dead today.'

The leader sighed and did it. 'Take it, then. I want to go home.' He stood back from his wand. 'We aren't even aurors. We just run this stuff, isn't it?'

Moody-Feathering's wand snapped at something and it shrank. He pocketed the first part of the radio equipment and the Lestranges did likewise, until the entire studio was in their pockets and those of the engineers, who looked shaky but very focused.

The group turned and ran for the entrance. Above them fire was licking down the interior of the great hall of the Ministry. Glass popped and broke in the heat, showering them with a thousand tiny tinkling fragments. Rodolphus's foot caught in something and he nearly tripped. Headless, the body lay beside the fountain, a wand clutched in the bloodied hand. 'That's Metellus.'

'Good' said Moody-Feathering, and ran until they were outside. They dodged through the firefights that were pocking the street and careened down an alley, sending up a flare, shooting anything in their path.

Their people were waiting for them on top of a roof a disconcertingly short distance away. Three storeys below aurors fought and died but from here there was a marvelous view of things, and mages had crafted them a little dome to protect them and the equipment from harm.

Everything was soon resized and put to rights on floating dollies for the right moment, bolts of magic pinging harmlessly overhead. One of the men stepped forward, flinching as a particularly dire-seeming spell bounced off the dome, close enough to his face that it nearly singed his bushy moustache. 'My name is Jermyn Fordice.'

'Lovely. And?' Moody-Feathering had no time for this.

'I'm an announcer. Perhaps I should get on-air and alert the populace that London is...?'

'Falling? I presume the Londoners amongst them know that but perhaps some reassurance would not go amiss.'

The man took the microphone in one hand. 'Radio Wizarding Britain, this is Jermyn Fordice. The Imperial fleet had landed in London and the Ministry is being contested. Stay in your homes and do not come out. The Dark Lord has seemingly abandoned London. Repeat, the Ministry is being contested but there is no loyalist British presence in the-'

He stopped and shaded his eyes. 'Holy fucking shite, what is that? Are those-?'

'Dragons' said Moody-Feathering drily, and took the microphone. 'This is Desmond Feathering with the Imperial fleet. Their majesties would like everyone to remain inside and let us finish, if you please.'

The dragons moved low and fast, the fighting stopping a bit at a time at the sheer wonder of it and picking up again as the great beasts flew toward the Ministry, packed together, wings sending up gale-force wind. They were intent, taut with expectation. Moody-Feathering caught a single glimpse of Draco astride a Welsh Green and then he was swallowed by the flight completely.

The dragons spread out, as perfectly disciplined as aurors, and began to flap their wings. The sound was sharp, leathery, and even the fighting seemed to dim as the noise wafted across their rooftop refuge as things began to happen.

'AURORS! AVERT YOUR EYES! IT'S COMING!'

En masse the fighters began to run, taking their combat elsewhere or else stopping it completely as many of the loyalists threw down their wands and covered their eyes. The dragons dropped from the air with startling speed and took the ground, spreading their wings out. For protection, realised Moody-Feathering, to save the aurors from seeing it.

The male Ironbelly stood front and centre, wings spread. It had an oddly stunted, runty aspect that reminded him of something he couldn't place. The Ironbelly's head went back in a shriek as it bellowed a challenge to an unseen enemy and then darted forward, head flashing like a sewing needle, tail swinging like a club. Viktor clung to the thing's back, head tucked well down to protect his eyes.

The Basilisk answered. Moody-Feathering forced himself to tear his eyes away. 'Mages, cover us, hurry!'

The dome went dark. Someone cried out and Moody-Feathering touched their arm. 'You're fine, Fordyce. We just don't want anyone seeing it.'

'Keep broadcasting. Hurry, get on air.'

'What?'

Fordyce sounded a bit more in control. 'People are going to want to know what to do once the city's fallen for true, my lord Feathering. If we can prevent a panic it might improve things from the word go.'

Rabastan's voice was close by. 'How do you know his name, I wonder?'

Fordyce snorted. 'If you haven't notice, my lord, things here are grim. I thought it politic to know which way the wind was apt to blow once things went all to shite. Pardon me.' His voice was incredibly mellow, like Mulciber's. Mulciber. Kingsley. Where was he now?

'And your wind, Mr. Fordyce?'

Fordyce's mellow voice was totally even, almost casual. 'I want to live a long, quiet life in peace.'

'That's fair.'

An engineer tapped something with a wand. 'We're on air, Jer.'

'Good enough, Donny. This is Jermyn Fordyce, reporting live from the Ministry. Citizens are asked to stay in their homes until the all-clear is called. Repeat...'

Outside it was too quiet. The burning Ministry was the only sound until there was a terrible crack and then a bellowing scream. From the dragon or the Basilisk? A low rumble might have been dragon flame or simply the disintegrating Ministry in its death throes. Moody-Feathering felt a moment of piercing, aching grief for the heart of Wizarding Britain and then it felt as if the very earth were shaking.

Moody-Feathering had a second of shocked dismay and then the flight was climbing, the flight was singing above them. A mage collapsed the bubble and in the sudden bright light of Wizarding London burning he could see the dragons directly overhead. Draco saw them and raised his wand to his throat. 'GET DOWN, WE'RE GOING TO-'

The dragon flew directly down, smooth as silk and so fast it was a white blur. It shrieked as it flew and then there was a sound like thunder as the male Ironbelly drew in air and breathed out flame. Surrounded by a corona of flame rider and mount rocketed into the heart of what had been the Ministry courtyard and was now a hellscape of burning.

The Basilisk roared and then the dragon was rolling, Viktor clinging to him for dear life as the dragon fought with talon and teeth. The head came forward a final time and found purchase, teeth flashing in the light and then ripped.

Screams from the ground, of horror or triumph it was hard to say. The dragon dropped the thing he was holding and raised his head to scream triumph at the sky, lit up. Clouds of dust swirled, mingling with the smoke to make a screen against Moody-Feathering's eyes. He strained, heart pounding.

'KRUM! KRUM! KRUM!' The voices rose again in screams of a different kind. The figure clinging to the male Ironbelly raised a hand to bring his wand to his throat.

'THE BASILISK IS DEAD!'

Fordyce didn't miss a stroke. 'The city has fallen. Repeat, London has fallen to the tsar. The Dark Lord's wonder weapon has been vanquished. Repeat, London has fallen and the Imperial army is in control.'

On the ground the cheers were spreading. 'KRUM! KRUM! KRUM!' Draco, on his Welsh Green, flew to Viktor's side and said something that made Viktor seem to nod. Draco's dragon wheeled and started for the fleet.

Moody-Feathering raised his own wand to his throat. 'MY LORD MALFOY, YOUR SERVICES ARE NEEDED HERE. MAKE YOUR WAY OVER, PLEASE.' Draco waved acknowledgement and came toward them.

The rest of the flight turned and flew toward them even as the ships came into view and lines began to come down so the support forces could start the work of occupation. Moody-Feathering laughed a little, glad to be alive and more glad that his nieces and nephews lived. And his Eda, his daughter, the one he thought he'd never have.

The dragon's wings whipped the air around them. Fordyce bowed low and then popped up like a niffler. 'Your grace, I am at your service.'

The dragon hovered as Draco slid easily off his back. 'Uncle? Uncles, pardon me.'

Moody-Feathering tugged him into a rough hug. 'That's my good boy.'

Draco hugged back, fiercely. 'Announcements?'

'Announcements.'

'Send someone to find out who's alive, if you don't mind.' Draco took the microphone from Fordyce's fingers.

'This is Malfoy. We've taken the city. London is burning but things are in control. We need everyone to give us a little time to sort things out and make sure that the worst of things has passed.'

'We desire no violence. Enough lives have been lost. Any auror who lays down his wand and surrenders will be spared. Any city, town or borough which bends the knee will not be sacked.'

He suddenly sagged against a speaker briefly. Rodolphus grabbed him, stiffening with concern but Draco shook his head no. 'Sorry, just tired.' He quickly ran through a few more salient points and then handed the microphone back to Fordyce.

The Zhivka was coming toward them. 'DRAGO? MY LORD?'

'HELLO, ANU. HOW DOES THE FLEET?'

'WELL, ACTUALLY. MAY I SET DOWN?'

Draco waved him toward the burning hulk of the Ministry. 'BE CAREFUL, PLEASE.'

The ship touched down so lightly there was not even a stir. Streams of people were coming off. Draco sagged against him again, eyes shut. 'Uncle Des?'

'Yes, Draco?'

'I'm going to bed now. I haven't slept since before Enver died. Is that all right?'

'Yes, we'll take it from here.'

An auror was coming toward them at a run. 'My lords?'

'Rise, auror. Do you have a list for me?'

The auror handed it over. 'Lady Malfoy sends me to tell you that the family is fine. She's heard from your parents and aunts, and my lord Ismaili sends word that he's alive and coming this way.'

'Scabior? Pavel?'

'They've been sighted.'

'Thank God. Tell my lady to meet me aboard the Zhivka, we're all going to get some rest before we have to move.'

Draco straightened for a moment, rubbing his eyes and then moved slowly and carefully for the dragon. 'He's tired too, I think.' The dragon's thin, sharp snout poked his arm and it made a low rumble, almost conversationally.

Draco nodded, eyes slipping shut again. 'You don't mind?'

In answer the dragon hovered a bit lower and Draco climbed on, clinging. As Moody-Feathering watched his head found the dragon's neck and he went limp. He's actually asleep, thought the two men in the same body. The dragon flapped off, moving gently so as to let the sleeper rest. Wonders, thought Moody-Feathering, really don't ever cease.

The thing the books always missed, thought Anu, was the stench after a battle. His boots splashed in something and he side-stepped, nearly running into Uncle Lucius as Uncle was on his blind side. Uncle's hand clasped his arm gently, unseen, and guided him.

'Lord Admiral, more looters.'

Anu turned, instinctively cocking his head so that he could use his reduced peripheral vision to take in the scene. Two aurors, possibly Macedonians, had a small string of sorry-looking people chained between them.

'Where were they?' Food-looters, or people caught with necessary medical supplies, water or shoes would be reprimanded and let loose with whatever it was they'd been trying to steal; those caught looting gold, valuables or works of art would hang.

'One of the houses on Snapdragon Circle, my lord. They had a few rugs and a silver salver on their persons, and a sack of gold was concealed in this one's shoe.' One auror gestured to an especially grimy-looking one.

'Throw them in a brig someplace and we'll deal with them later, please.'

The aurors nodded and bowed, leading the looters off. Uncle Lucius was moving like he hurt. Anu frowned up at him. 'What happened?'

'A burning hex to my ribs. The medi-witch fixed it but that skin growing back does tend to smart.'

Dogs were coming. One of them was actually Baba Sirius. 'Baba?'

Baba Sirius changed back and shook his head no. 'No survivors thus far but we're hopeful.'Baba Sirius sat down heavily on a cracked and blackened stone. 'So where do we go from here?'

Anu wondered the same. He'd been in the ships when the first explosion came, sending the fleet bouncing upward as he shouted orders, trying to equalise air pressure to keep them aloft. Below a shimmering rose of gold and crimson had opened in the centre of the Ministry and the petals were unfurling at furious pace, fingers of flame grasping the air with crude hunger.

'MIND THE FIRE!' Shouted Anu and then immediately gauged his options. The fire was growing hotter and he took them aloft, waiting for something to happen. Below them a stream of people were racing from the Ministry, hands up in raised his eye, waiting for a stream of small craft to emerge and try to flee to safety but none came.

He'd got them turned away from the battle of the Ministry courtyard just in time and then waited, holding them in place until he'd heard the flap of enormous wings and seen, like ghosts, three dragons coming toward them. One of the was Old Mother, and on her back, calm as a spring's morning, was Hermione, hair blowing behind her like a cape.

'Hermione? What's going on?'

She pulled up alongside and held out a hand Anu jumped, trusting her, trusting Old Mother, and neither of them failed him, not for a second. He landed easily on the broad, hard back, skidding a bit on her gloriously shiny scales, and then settling so that his cousin, taller and older, was holding him in front of her.

'The Dark Lord.' she said in her usual calm, even tone. 'He thinks if he can't have it, no one will.' Her voice was infinitely old and infinitely sad. 'He's wrong, but the cost will be terrible to behold.'

'It already is.'

Below them the fire was spreading, engulfing buildings on either side of the Ministry. People were screaming, a lot of them, and running, everyone that could. Hermione blinked once, audibly, and then Old Mother made a groan in her chest that might have been pain.

'Yes' said Hermione, and pressed her neck. 'I think so too.'

The other dragons flanked them. 'Go to Drago, Anu. Old Mother and I have work to do.'

Drago's dragon caught him as easily as Old Mother had. He flapped his wings a bit and then rose a might, tail lashing.

Drago patted his neck. 'Easy, boy.'

'What do we do, Drago?'

'There's nothing for it now but to wait for it to burn itself out, unfortunately.' His voice was hard and dry. Anu leaned into him and Drago hugged him. Drago's chest was hiccuping and his shoulders were trembling. He was crying.

'I'd have done anything to avoid this. Anything. Oh God. Britain, Britain.' He sobbed and Anu rose on his knees to hold him, hoping his wool trousers wouldn't slip on the Welsh Green's smooth back.

The dragon roared as if he could sense Drago's pain, and flapped harder. Drago sniffled, patting the dragon's shoulder. 'Easy. I'm all right.'

'Is he in your mind?'

'No. But I can feel him and he can feel me.' Drago patted the great shoulder again. 'He is very old and very clever. I like that.' Then he shook his head to clear it and said 'So now we'll deal with what we can do, shan't we?'

'Tell me.'

'Those kids Paavo just got need to be escorted back as soon as we can. A lot of them are too far gone but some of them can be helped. Then we'll set up medical aid stations for refugees. There will be a lot of them, so see that we have enough. Have them Portkey us some more medi-witches and wizards, please. I'd help you but I need to sleep.' It was something to start with, and Anu had had a brief nap just about a day earlier, so he was in a better place with that than Drago.

So now, hours later, Anu had done just that. The sun was a shivery gray crescent in the mist of dirt and cold in the air. The smell of fire and cooked flesh was beginning to recede a little, just a touch. But the human cost was growing by the hour, and now Baba Sirius was staring into the middle distance like Drago was prone to do. Anu touched his arm. 'Baba?'

'Kiddo?'

A stream of refugees walked past. They had the blank-eyed look of people who had seen too much too fast. Baba Sirius watched them go, shaking his head. 'I never thought I'd see the day Britons... that doesn't happen here.'

Anu sat down next to him and whistled. Goose ambled over and rested his shaggy head on Anu's knee. 'Nene's taken those kids back to Sofia to get them clear of the conflict zones.'

'I saw her before she went. Anu, is there any news from Scotland?'

'None, Baba. I'm sorry.'

Baba Sirius shook his head. 'Don't be, kiddo.' He stood up, stretching his back, which popped three times before he was done. 'Getting old.'

'No' said Anu firmly. 'Not at all.'

'What do you know about it, kid?' Baba Sirius cuffed him fondly and Anu rubbed his eye, feeling the grit in it. Sometimes the place where the left one had been ached with phantom pain, as if the eye were still there.

'That I hope we get to be old some day. All of us, I mean.'

Baba Sirius paused, eyes suddenly wet. 'Me, too. A lot of my friends didn't. A lot of your friends didn't.'

Anu thought of Enver just then, how someday he would be older than Baba Sirius, if he was lucky, and Enver would always be nineteen. Like Sven Lofstrom, he thought shivering. Like the dead they were still trying to clear out of the rubble of the Ministry.

'No. A lot of them died.'

Baba Sirius put his arm around Anu and Anu snuggled in, neck prickling. Death was close by, death had fed well but in his terrible greed he would take them all in turn. Like Enver, like Sven. He touched his admiral's insignia, knowing it would not protect him.

Instead, he turned his face up to the pale, scared sun and let it warm him, let it warm his bones and the place where his eye had been.


End file.
